


Castiel and Crowley TNM Episode 8: Castiel and Crowley vs. The Haunted Castle

by WatchingOne



Series: Castiel and Crowley: The Next Missions [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingOne/pseuds/WatchingOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is there such a thing as down-time in the fight to save the world? Castiel and Crowley are going to at least give it a try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vacation, All I Ever Wanted....

# Vacation, All I Ever Wanted....

The carefully folded and stapled papers hit the desk with a loud slap, sliding away from each other into a semblance of a fan shape. Crowley picked one up hesitantly and arched an eyebrow, looking over the top of the one he held in his hand at the person that had tossed them there.

“Are these.... _travel brochures_ ?” he asked warily, his other eyebrow raising in question.

The girl standing in the conference room in front him crossed her arms over her chest and answered with a small shrug. She was dressed in a faded, opened up button-down plaid shirt, worn jeans, some off-brand sneakers, and had a well worn rucksack/computer bag slung over one shoulder. Her straight red hair went down to her shoulders, and her pale-blue eyes were red-rimmed from an apparent lack of sleep.

“Dude, you asked me if I could help you out....well, say 'thank you', then,” she answered, stifling a yawn. “I've been at this for the past two weeks you know. It isn't exactly easy to locate those two....even when they aren't all kidnapped by demons, or teenage hell-heralds, or whatever it was that you called them,” she finished, waving a hand in the air. Her eyes widened in sudden alertness and interest as she looked into the corner of the conference room. “Ooooh, is that  _espresso_ ?” she asked. Not waiting for a reply, she darted past Castiel and Crowley, glanced for a fraction of a second at the Big Board, and began to pour herself a cup. She held up the drink in front of her face with both hands and inhaled deeply, smiling. She took a deep sip and her smile widened further.

“Ahhhhhh...dark roasted Mana,” she murmured, her eyes half-closed.

Crowley looked at Castiel and shook his head.

“Ah....sorry, one question,” he said, moving towards her, flapping the brochure in the air a few times before letting it fall back to the table. He held out his hand towards it. “Not to sound too dis-appreciative, but what on earth do travel brochures to....” He frowned and glanced back down at the travel pamphlet, squinting at the title. “Scotland?” He straightened up and frowned. “They actually  _make_ travel brochures for Scotland....?” he mumbled to himself before shaking his head and continuing. “Regardless, as I was saying, what do travel brochures to Scotland have to do with the whereabouts of Sam and Dean, Ms. Bradbury?”

Charlie Bradbury squinted over her coffee mug at Crowley. “You know something?” she answered. “That secretary of yours....Hudson?”

“Justin.”

“Right, Justin,” Charlie corrected herself, sipping at her coffee again before setting it carefully down on the small side-table. “He's a real pain-in-the-ass.”

Crowley folded his hands in front of him and sighed deeply. “How so?”

“Well,” she answered, crossing her arms. “For starters, he tried to play that stupid 'Take a Number' game with me when I showed up here.”

Crowley nodded. “He's actually instructed to do that. Standing orders. Sorry. My mistake. I should have warned him to admit you.”

Charlie smiled back at him bitterly. “Anyway, when I wouldn't go along, the little cretin told me you two were off on a 'meeting' somewhere and wouldn't be back for four hours or so.”

Crowley frowned. “That's also Standard Operating Procedure....again, I apologize. My mistake. What's more interesting to me is this; how did you even  _know_ that he wasn't telling the truth?”

Charlie's bitter smile widened. “That's  _my_ 'Standard Operating Procedure', chuckles.”

Crowley crossed his arms and glared.

Charlie rolled her eyes and sighed. “Um, how about that flaming-red phallus-mobile Ferrari parked outside on the street directly in front of the building? In a fire-lane? Just for starters, you know....”

Crowley smiled tightly back. “I see. Anything else? Or may we continue on to my question?”

Charlie let out a huff. “See? Way I figure it, you waste my time deliberately, I get to waste yours.” She smiled at him evilly and poured herself some more coffee. “With interest,” she added.

“Charlie....”, Castiel said gently, moving over to stand in front of her. “I'd like to apologize. Profusely, for our offices lack of....” he looked over his shoulder at Crowley. “Hospitality. But Sam and Dean are in a lot of trouble, and we have a unique window of opportunity to rescue them now.” He gave the Big Board a furtive glance. The screen was divided up into several separate square and rectangular views, the very center of which was monitoring the still smoking area over the open portal to Purgatory. There was apparently no further activity there at the moment, as the motion trackers and live satellite feeds indicated. “And, I apologize again, but I think time is an important factor here.”

Charlie followed his eyes and frowned. “What's up then, big guy?”, she asked, titling her head.

“Crowley has managed to....I believe temporarily....take out the the head of the particular snake that we're fighting. While they're recovering, we have to put as big a dent in their operations and plans as we can. And I think getting Sam and Dean back would be a big part of that.”

“How so?”

“Because they kept them alive for some reason. If we can determine that....”

“Then maybe you get another clue as to what they're up to....” Charlie considered this and smiled back up at Castiel. She chucked him good-naturally on the shoulder. “I guess it's a good thing that I'm a sucker for trenchcoats, huh?” She looked around Castiel and narrowed her eyes at Crowley. “See? At little politeness never hurt anyone, right?”

Crowley grinned back. “Jury's still out,” he answered grouchily. “So....” He reached down and picked up the brochure again. “Scotland....”

Charlie nodded, moving over to the table and sitting down in one of the leather conference room chairs. She adjusted herself in the seat a little and let out a little sigh of pleasure. “Wow....nice....Italian leather?”

Crowley sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, OK, I think you've learned your lesson....for  _now_ , at least.” she grumbled, then she smiled and winked at Castiel. “Scotland. That's where they are obviously, duh.”

Crowley frowned. “OK, so what's with the brochures, then? Why not just give us an address? Or a Google Maps link? Aren't you supposed to be the tech-whiz?”

Charlie gave him a withering look. “That would be tech- _goddess_ , thank you very much, and yeah, you're actually right – for a switch.” She picked up one of the other brochures and flipped it open. “This place, “ she said, shaking here head in wonderment before looking back up at the two of them, who were gathered over her shoulder. “It's like the Bermuda-Triangle of the grid.”

“How do you mean?”, Crowley asked, peering closer at the brochure on the table.

“I mean, no website, no online information. Nada. Zip-o. You mentioned Google Maps? Yeah, check this out – every time that you enter the address of the brochure, and refresh the page, you get a different location.”

“What?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, exactly. Sometimes it pops up in the south, sometimes on the coast. One time it showed up smack-dab right in the middle of Loch-Ness, for crying out loud.”

Crowley frowned, straightening up from the table. “I don't get it. How do you even know that the Winchesters are there then, if you didn't find them online?”

Charlie glared at him. “Hey, I can do analog too, you know!”

“Charlie....Crowley has a point....” Castiel replied.

Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ok.... _fine_ ,” she said, reaching around and pulling her rucksack off of her back. She laid it on the table and opened the top flap, taking out a letter in a manila envelope. She handed it grumpily over her shoulder towards Crowley without looking at him.

Crowley pulled out the letter inside and raised his eyebrows, looking at Castiel.

“It's addressed to us, “ he whispered. Castiel's eyes widened in surprise.

“What does it say?”

“ _Hello Misters Castiel and Crowley_ ,” Crowley began to read aloud. “ _I've recently discovered that this little hacker of yours was looking for a certain someone, or someones, as the case may be._ ”

Charlie bristled and blew the bangs off of her forehead. “Hacker....” she mumbled in frustration. “Really? Seriously?”

“Go on,” Castiel prompted.

Crowley cleared his throat. “ _You needn't have gone through all of the trouble. I, in fact, invite you both to come and, how does one say it? 'Come and get it', I believe the phrase is. I am looking forward to our imminent...meeting. Sincerely, T. Donahughe, Master of the Castle at Donnerbruck_ ”.

Castiel squinted. “Is that all?”

Crowley nodded, waving the paper. “A contact number for reservations, apparently, but that's it.” He looked inside the envelope and pulled out a pair of tickets. “And airplane tickets,” he said, reading them. “Private charter.”

“Already looked it up,” Charlie muttered. “Dead-end. Apparently the Donahughe Castle has it's own frikkin' airport or something. Also not listed.” She looked up at Crowley. “This is a total loss of data, guys. I was thinking;  _you're_ from Scotland....I mean,  _originally_ , anyway. Ever heard of this place?”

Crowley shook his head. “New to me. It's not like my homeland has any noticeable shortage of wild myths and legends, to be certain. And then there's Meggernie Castle in Perthshire....nice haunted castle that one.  _Very_ flirtatious White Lady....” Crowley's eyes glazed over in reverie.

“Crowley!”, Castiel and Charlie called in tandem.

Crowley regained his composure. “Oh, right, sorry.” He shrugged and tucked the letter into his jacket pocket, after jotting down the telephone number on a Post-It. “As far as a disappearing, un-mappable castle, or a Mr. 'Donahughe', sorry, never heard of either one of 'em.”

Castiel sighed. “So, this is an obvious trap....what do we do?”

Crowley smiled tightly at him and pressed the button on the intercom.

“We go on vacation, of course,” he replied, smiling. “Ain't been home in a  _long_ time.”

“Yes sir?”, Justin's voice answered.

“I need you to call this number and confirm our flight and arrival,” he replied, reading off the number on the memo.

“Yes sir. Will there be anything else?”

“Pack our bags, Justin,” he said, winking at Castiel. “We're going on a little trip.”

 

***

 

Mr. T. Donahughe hung up the phone and smiled to himself, then raised his head to his two companions - a young man and young woman, smartly dressed in hotel staff attire - smiling at them as well.

“Well?”, the man asked. He stood with his arms crossed, seemingly irritated or impatient at something.

“That was their office in Atlanta,” Mr. Donahughe answered smoothly. He watched them both, and was pleased to see smiles coming over both of their faces, the young man relaxing. “They're coming.”

He rose from behind his desk and paced over to a dark, moldy stone wall covered in a medieval tapestry depicting the end of a rather vicious and gruesome hunt. He studied it and turned back to his company, his mouth turned up in a half smile, his fire-red hair muted in the torchlight from the room.

“Time to put an end to this,” he whispered. He turned back to the wall and took a deep, slow breath. His clothes and body shimmered for a moment, then he casually stepped forward and through the wall, melting into it.

“We're going to do what our so-called 'betters' could not,” his voice came from within the wall, echoing softly in the castle's ancient stone walls.

“We're going to kill Castiel and Crowley.”

 


	2. Itinerary: Impossible

# Itinerary: Impossible

Crowley let out a low whistle as they walked out onto the tarmac, escorted by two members of the charter jet company. They each had names tags with 'Concierge' written on them – Sean and Annabelle, respectively. Castiel looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“That, my Angelic friend,” Crowley rasped, pointing, “is a  _true_ slice of Heaven itself.”

“That's our Gulf Stream G650,” Annabelle chirped enthusiastically, her teeth shining a bit too brightly in the afternoon sun.” It's called  _The Shepherd_ !”

“You don't say,” Crowley replied with a too-wide grin, turning partly towards her while walking, hands clasped in front of him. “I wouldn't have guessed that, what with the ten-foot high letters stenciled in plaid on the side.” He paused. “No, my real question was...”

“It's one of the most luxurious aircraft flying in the entire world, “ Annabelle continued, undaunted, her smile now accented by beaming eyes. “World leaders and heads of industry have requested rides in it. If you would like, I can tell you about it's many features....”

Crowley held up a hand, interrupting her. He stopped on the pavement and closed his eyes almost reverently, turning his head towards the parked jet.

“Long range cruise speed -Mach .85, that's 562 mph to you and me - can take up to eighteen passengers, can handle a payload of up to three tons, has wire-to-wire state of the art guidance systems, a private stateroom, and about a sixty-five million dollar price-tag.” He opened his eyes and winked at Annabelle, who had stopped talking mid-word, leaving her jaw open, still wearing a blank half-smile. “I say 'about', darling, because I only paid fifty-five million for my last one. They gave me a discount for ordering them in bulk.”

Annabelle closed her mouth with an audible click, and Crowley grinned evilly at her. “Sorry dear. Did I steal your thunder? What's more important to me, however, is the payload, did you manage to get all of our luggage loaded without any problems?”

Sean cleared his throat. “Of course, sir. Might I ask....?”

“No, you may not,” Crowley said, cutting him off and staring him down. “Just follow my instructions. No one is to go near the larger of my trunks without a forklift, and it to be kept well ventilated. Failure to comply can be rather....messy.”

Sean hesitated and nodded. “Whatever you wish, sir. But once we've landed in Scotland, it might be difficult to move that particular....er....item to the castle itself.”

Crowley patted Castiel on the shoulder firmly. “That's what I brought him for,” he smiled jovially. Sean looked at Castiel dubiously.

“He's stronger than he looks,” Crowley sad, shrugging. “So, shall we inspect that spacious fifty-four foot long cabin, and more importantly, the wet bar therein?” With that, he strode forward and walked up the steps to the plane's entrance.

Castiel looked back at Sean and Annabelle, who looked rather unhappy at the moment and shrugged apologetically.

“You'll have to excuse my partner....he gets nervous when he flies....it makes him....um.... snarky.”

Sean and Annabelle nodded at Castiel slowly in tandem. He smiled tightly and turned back to the plane, eying it warily.

“Very, very nervous....”, he muttered to himself as he took a deep breath and steadied his nerves before following Crowley in.

 

***

 

“That wasn't very nice of you, you know,” Castiel said to Crowley a little while after they had taken off. Crowley had already made himself perfectly at home, leaning back with his eyes closed in a plush beige leather seat with his feet up on the small table in front of him, a drink held in one hand.

“What's that now?”, Crowley asked, opening one eye and squinting at Castiel.

“You. Interrupting that woman back there. She was just doing her job.”

Crowley sighed, opening up both eyes and swinging his feet down, leaning forward.

“Oh, was I supposed to play 'nice' now, Castiel?”

Castiel eyed him and then glanced out the window. “It couldn't hurt.”

“Castiel, did you completely forget the part about  _all of this being a trap_ ? Which, by association, makes her an opponent of ours.” Crowley huffed and leaned back. “Look, I'm rarely polite to start with, let alone for anyone that is actively trying to hurt or kill me....I hope you can understand.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “I don't think she's a part of this.”

Crowley, getting more frustrated, snapped his eyes back to Castiel. “I'm sorry, but why does that even matter?”

Castiel sighed, considering. “You do that all of the time, Crowley. You lump people and groups into these ever-expanding and general categories, without ever considering the individual,” he answered finally.

“And?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “ _And_ , you should really try to consider the feelings and emotions of the people that you deal with. That's all.”

Crowley blinked, incredulous, and then slowly leaned forward.

“Castiel,  _how long_ have you known me exactly?”

Castiel met his eyes. “Why?”

Crowley's mood darkened visibly. “Why? Why?! Because in the many,  _many_ years that we've been acquainted, Castiel, how many times would you say that I've gone out of my way to be quote-on-quote 'nice'....to  _anyone_ ?!”

Castiel frowned. “Never.”

Crowley threw his hand up in the air, letting it fall back down again with a smack. “Exactly,  _never_ ! So, what in all of creation would possess you to think that I'd give it a go  _now_ , of all bloody times?”

Castiel squinted at him. “I really don't understand you sometimes.”

“Obviously,” Crowley snorted, bringing his drink to his lips.

“Actually, on second though, it's really you that doesn't understand,” Castiel continued. “Ever since the Winchesters cleansed your blood, you've gone on and on about forming bonds, finding friends, even love.”

Crowley paused before drinking, watching Castiel over the rim of his glass.

“So, my question is: which is it? Is it the same old kill-or-be-killed Crowley who's out for himself and no-one else? Or were you serious about trying to understand your newly activated, more human side?”

Crowley continued to watch him, his drink still frozen in his hands.

Castiel leaned forward. “Because, while I might not be a great scholar regarding human interactions, I am good about trying to consider how they are feeling. And it seems that if you actually were serious about it, you could do a lot worse than listening to what I'm trying to tell you.”

Crowley stared at him for a few more seconds and then drained his drink. He coughed slightly and leaned back in his chair solemnly, looking out of the window.

“So,” he finally said in a low voice. “We friends now? Is that it? You want to help me?”

Castiel sighed. “'Just because we're forced to be working together doesn't mean we have to like it', is what I believe you said when we started this mission together; “ Castiel recited in a fake Scottish accent. “Well, my take on it is this; it doesn't mean I have to hate it either.” The plane hit a spot of turbulence and the cabin rocked a little. Castiel sat down heavily and groaned. “Flying, on the other hand....”

Crowley glanced at Castiel out of the corner of his eye and then grumbled incoherently to himself. He put his empty glass down and went to the small refrigerator in the cabin. He opened it and nodded appreciatively. “Good, I thought that I had seen Sushi listed on the menu....”

Castiel looked at him, puzzled. “You're hungry?”

Crowley took the lid off of the plate and removed the pickled ginger from the tray, piling the little strips onto a smaller plate and walking over to Castiel.

“No, but you are. At least for this. Here – eat it.”

Castiel eyed the ginger warily. “Um....” he started to say.

“It helps with air-sickness,” Crowley said, cutting him off. He left the plate on the small table in front of Castiel and sat back down in his chair.

Castiel ate a piece and swallowed. He looked back up at Crowley, who was staring out of the window again.

“Thank you, Crowley,” he said.

Crowley looked back at him, his face casting stark shadows from the sun in the sky. “Least I could do,” he said, smiling. “Besides, this is a new suit. Wont do having you getting sick all over it.”

Castiel smiled back, eating another piece of ginger and closing his eyes.

 

***

 

They landed a few hours later, and after procuring a truck large enough to carry their luggage, and Crowley's large shipping crate, their assigned driver headed down the highway and then onto some side roads into the Scottish Highlands, winding around scenic foothills and mountains for a few hours. Castiel watched the countryside in wonder, Crowley with a kind of disinterested reverie. They had to stop for a time as a large flock of sheep was herded over the road, the tender ignoring the harsh words from their lorry driver.

“Rush-hour in the Highlands,” Crowley grumbled. “Still hasn't changed, even after a few hundred years have gone by.”

“Didn't you grow up around here....um....I mean, originally?”, Castiel asked.

Crowley nodded. “Rather would like to forget about it, thank you very much.”

“I imagine it was hard growing up here, especially with Rowena as a mother.”

Crowley sighed in exasperation. “No, Castiel, I ended up in Hell because of my well-rounded and fully satisfying childhood....imbuing me a sense of self-worth and value.” He snorted and shook his head. “Seriously?”, he asked looking at Castiel.  
Castiel shrugged. “Sorry....I thought that maybe coming back here would bring back something worth remembering.” Crowley grunted and looked away.

“No Castiel, there's are plenty of bloody good reasons that I don't come back to Scotland. At least if I can help it.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way before a bumpy and winding side road took them into a rather large valley, the center of which had an old, towering castle in the middle of it, matching the pictures in Charlie's brochures. Even though it was mid-afternoon on a relatively sunny day, a dark grey formation of clouds hung around the area, eerily situated over the castle itself. It lurked there like a predator; a spot on the otherwise pristine green countryside.

The truck pulled into the pebbly service drive and they got out and began to unload it. No hotel staff came out to greet them. The clouds continued to gather and merge, the threat of rain filling the air.

“I'll let 'em know yer here,” the driver grunted to them as the last of the luggage was off-loaded. “Don't go wanderin' off now.”

Crowley gave him a small salute, which the driver returned with a withering gaze. Crowley smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Wow, can't wait to see what the rooms look like,” he said, a false cheer in his tone. “It's just so.... _hospitable_ here, isn't it, Castiel?”

Castiel was frowning up at the clouds and then looked at Crowley. He looked down at this hands and his frown deepened.

“Castiel?”

“Crowley, we have to get out of here....”

Crowley tilted his head and frowned in return. “What? But we just got here....”

“Now....”, Castiel grunted, walking off at a brisk pace into the open field. Crowley watched him wander off, dumbfounded.

“Castiel? Castiel!” Crowley shouted, running after him. Breathless, he caught up to him after a hundred feet or so. Castiel did not acknowledge him, he simply kept moving away from the castle into the field, jaw set and determined.

“Castiel....mind explaining what you're doing?”

“I'm cut off....” Castiel murmured, his thoughts seemingly very far away. He glanced at Crowley as if only just noticing him, then suddenly spun and grabbed his shoulders.

“Crowley! Can you teleport us? Your demonic ability....it's on a completely different frequency....can you teleport us out of here?” He had an almost panicked look in his eyes, and Crowley found himself shrinking back instinctively.

“What's this all about, Castiel? As I just said, we've only just arrived, now you want to leave...? What about Sam? And Dean?”

“Can you do it?!”, Castiel roared.

Crowley took a step back. He frowned and reached for his power. “Fine, Castiel, but you owe me one hell of an explanation after all of...”

He paused..... a chill going through him. Castiel was staring at him. Then he nodded.

“You can't, can you?”, Castiel asked, turning and walking further into the field. “You're cut off from your power as well.....this place....”

Crowley shook his head to clear it. “What's going on Castiel? You said you were 'cut-off' as well? From your powers?”

“From.... _everything_ , Crowley. The Angels, Crowley, Heaven....I can't hear them anymore....they're  _gone_ ....I'm....I'm....” He hit something invisible in the field that knocked him onto his backside. He grunted and pulled himself out of the soft Scottish dirt and felt up tentatively. His hand rested against an unseen barrier.

“Alone....alone and trapped....”, he whispered.

Crowley walked up slowly next to him and held his hand up as well. It came into contact with a physical, but completely invisible wall, cold and as hard as a stone.

“Well, bugger me....” he whispered, turning his head slowly back to the castle. It was now at least two hundred yards away, and still looming, now made all the more ominous by the roiling dark clouds overhead.

“No bets being taken that the entire area is walled in,” he grumbled.”Bloody good trap....no powers, no way out....only way to go is....inside.”

As if in response, a crashing bolt of lightning struck somewhere high in the castle's ramparts, shaking the air around them, rumbling like a beast as the sound of the thunder drained away.

“Nice touch.....” Crowley muttered, cocking an eyebrow. He looked at Castiel, who continued to stand, hand against the barrier, staring at nothing. “C'mon Castiel. Nothing for it. We have to fight on, it appears. How on earth we're going to do _that_ , however, remains to be seen....” He turned and plodded his way back to the castle as a slow, steady rain began to fall.

“How on earth....” Castiel muttered, blinking as the rain began to run down his face in steady streams. He turned towards the castle and then turned his head back to the sky, eyes searching desperately. “I don't think that we're even there anymore...” he whispered, before hunching his shoulders and hurrying to catch up to Crowley.

 


	3. Checking In

# Checking In

“Hellll-ooooooo?” Crowley cried into the empty hall, hands cupped to the sides of his mouth. The sound echoed clearly in the vast stone interior, rebounding over and over again until it finally faded. Crowley listened and then grunted in disapproval. He leaned against the massive wooden desk in the foyer with the reception sign hanging over it and sighed. “I will not be carrying our luggage to our rooms, that is for certain.” He frowned, waiting for a response. Several seconds went by before he continued. “I'll wait here for bloody  _eternity_ if I have to, but I will  _not_ be carrying my own luggage!”, he yelled, his voice echoing once again.

They had returned from the rainy field to the carport, and finding no trace of the driver there, had decided to go inside and search. For what exactly, they hadn't decided yet. They had had a rushed conversation in the service entrance before deciding to go inside. They came to the obvious conclusion that they were trapped, and cut off from their respective power sources. Castiel still had his own Angel's Grace in reserve, but using it up while he was cut off from Heaven drained it like a battery. Crowley felt a similar phenomenon. He couldn't channel Hellfire or use telekinesis without forming a link into Hell, he could only burn out whatever power he had stored within himself. Any form of Angelic and Demonic transport was also, apparently, unusable. The fact that no one had tried to kill them as of yet spoke volumes that their captors purpose was not ready to be revealed. Crowley had rolled his eyes at that, proclaiming that the best traps never relied on elaborate gimmicks or schemes, but rather the quickest kill possible. After their brief strategic meeting, such as it was, they had decided to simply go inside to the massive, and much drier, castle entry hall and see what developed.

The castle itself was ancient, but had modern amenities scattered throughout – soft leather sitting areas with new wooden side tables, soft halogen reading lamps on top of each one, an empty, but very chic dining area and restaurant, complete with a wet-bar, tastefully lit and decorated with old Scottish shields and banners, and lastly, a reception area that they had made their way over to and had been waiting patiently at for a half an hour – without another person in sight.

“Have you tried this?” Castiel asked, frowning and reaching out his hand over a silver bell placed on the counter between a couple of desk pens and an old fashioned sign -in register. He brought his hand down several times in rapid succession, the bell ringing cheerfully into the silent gloom.

“What's the point? Nobody ever answers one of those things anyway, and there's obviously no staff here....”

He straightened up in surprise as a door against the wall opened, and an old man in his late sixties or so wearing a red-pleated coat came out, gave them a rather unfriendly grimace, and went behind the desk, taking up a position right in front of them, his face wrinkled and his wispy white hair unkempt and blowing around his head gently in the drafty hall.

“Aye? What'dye want?”, he grumbled crankily, a thick Scottish accent marking every word.

“Crowley blinked in amazement. “You can't be serious.” he said slowly.

“''Bout what?” the man answered, eyes narrowing.

Crowley leaned forward. “You. Can't. Be. Serious.” he repeated, staring at the man.

The man met his stare and stubbornly stared back. “And _I_ said- 'About. What?'”

Crowley smiled tightly. “Let's drop the games, shall we?” The man looked back at him, confusion crossing over his features. Crowley let out a big, exasperated breath, then took in a larger one, a vein on his forehead beginning to throb in anger. “You wankers  _invited_ us here,  _trapped_ us here, and here you come out and proceed to  _pretend that you don't know who we are and why we're here_ ?  _Honestly_ ? Do you _really_ want to do it this way??!!” he shouted, his finger thumping on the counter angrily, making the pens rattle in their holders.

The man's shoulder's slumped and he shook his head, looking down at the counter. “Oh. That.”

“'That'?!” Crowley exclaimed, his thumping ceasing, his finger paused in the air in mid-thump. “What in the hell do you mean - 'that'?”

“Is this how people in Scotland talk to each other?” Castiel broke in, looking confused. They both turned to him simultaneously and gave him a withering stare. He sighed, shrugging and then looking away.

Crowley and the old man returned to glaring at each other.

“”'That', lad, means that I have no damned clue as to who ye are, nor do I care. I'm just as trapped here as you two, if'n what you're telling me is true. All I was told was- 'If someone rings this bell out here, I'm to come a runnin', and ask them what they wanted.” He squinted angrily at Crowley and leaned forward towards him, narrowing the distance. “Well, I did that. So, I'll ask again – whatd'ye want?”

Castiel turned back around and watched the two of them in their stare down for a while before speaking. “Excuse me,” he said. The old man turned his head to him slowly. “Did you just say that you were trapped here as well?”

The old man squinted at him. “What – are ye deef? Of course that's what I just said!”

Castiel flinched back a little. “What happened?”, he asked after recovering.

The old man sighed. “I was sitting at home the other night, game was on the telly. Drink in me hand. All was right with the world. Then – 'Poof', I must've fallen asleep or something, and I wake up in that room over there,” he said, nodding towards the door he had come from. “Thought it must've be the drink or something – though it's never done that ta me before.....” He trailed off and looked around the room. “Tried to just leave, but there's....I dunno, something out in the field out there. A wall or something.....can't even see it....but I'll be buggered if I can't get through it.” He sighed deeply again and rolled his shoulders. “So, I'm fairly certain I'm not dreamin', because my imagination just isn't this good, if you know what I mean....the room I'm in is nice enough, and there's food in the restaurant three times a day. The chef here is actually pretty decent. Nice fella.”

Crowley grimaced. “Chef? There's more of you here?”

The old man rolled his eyes. “Bright one, ain't ye?”, he answered, giving him the evil eye once again. “Of course there's more of us!”

“How many?” Castiel asked gently.

The man shrugged. “Ten or so, so far as I've seen. All gussied up in hotel clothes, like this,” he added holding up a flap of his jacket in obvious disgust. “Same as me, too....all woke up here with no way out, but instructions coming to them as to what is expected of 'em.”

“Instructions from whom?”, Crowley asked.

The old man visibly paled. “I....well...that's the thing , see....?” He looked around and leaned forward conspiratorially. Castiel and Crowley leaned forward as well. “I....I ain't never seen 'em....no one here has....the voice....it just kind of seems ta...come _out of the bloody walls_....”he finished in a hasty whisper.

“Hidden speakers?”, Crowley asked.

The old man shook his head vigorously “We all thought the same thing at first....checked everywhere for 'em....no...lads...it's...:” he stopped, looking over his shoulder. “ _Spirits_ ....”, he whispered, his red eyes widening. He then squeezed them shut and shook his head. “Now, I know what yer thinkin' – and don't ye dare even be sayin' it! My mind's still as sharp as a razor, mind ya. And I'll boot any man in the arse that tries to tell me otherwise!” He straightened up and smoothed down his jacket. “I heard these stories when I was lad – what native born Scotsman hasn't? All 'bout mischievous spirits plain' their tricks and castin' spells on the livin'. Stories fer the wee-ones. That's all I ever thought. Never thought I'd see somethin' like this with me own eyes....” He looked around sadly. “All I can hope fer is to do what they want, and they'll let us all go.”

Castiel nodded. “Then it looks like we have to play along and hope for the best.” He leaned forward. “Are any of the other people trapped here named Sam and Dean Winchester by any chance?”

“Nope, definitely not,” the old man frowned. “But where are my manners? Seems as if yer just as stuck as we all are....I'm Terry. Terry MacGregor.” He held out his hand, smiling. “And you two lads are?”

“Crowley, “ Crowley answered, gripping his hand and giving it a firm shake. “My friend here's named Castiel.”

Terry squinted. “Odd couple of names - very 'New Age'...” He shrugged. “Ah well. Now, back to the topic at hand then.....Will you be needin' anything?”

Crowley looked around the lobby and sighed. “Might as well play along then....” he muttered. “Right. We'll both be needing rooms. And a porter.”

Terry nodded. He looked around, waiting for something to happen, a helpless look in his eyes. A door burst open across the lobby and a young woman with dark auburn hair and a teenage boy with a face full of freckles came running in. Terry let out a breath.

“Ah, that'd be Eileen and young Terrance. This'll be their part of the play I guess.”

Eileen ran up to the counter and slapped a book down on it. She eyed Castiel and Crowley warily and then opened it up.

“Right....” she exclaimed, flipping to a page with the current date. “That'll be two VIP suites....one for a Mr. Crowley, and one for a Mr. Castiel. Terrance? Can you please escort these two gentlemen to their rooms?” Castiel looked down and noticed that her knees were shaking.

“It's going to be all right,” he said, looking her in the eyes. 

She smiled back weakly. “If you say so, sir,” she answered. She scribbled down the time in the book and shut it with a thump. She exhaled and looked around the room, scanning all around.

“Well?”, she croaked out after a minute or so went by. “Well?! I did what you bloody wanted! They're all checked in now! I played my little role! What else do you want from me?!! Let me go home! I have a daughter to look after you bastards!”

A hollow, deep laughter began to echo in the room. Terry paled and made the sign of the cross over his chest. Terrance began to cry. Eileen stood defiantly, fists curled to her sides, tears streaming down her face.

“I'm afraid our little game is far from over, Mrs. Rourke,” a voice resonated from seemingly all directions at once. Crowley whipped his head around, trying to pinpoint it. Castiel went over to Eileen and Terrance, putting a comforting arm around them both.

“There is much, much more to be done before we reach our inevitable conclusion. You will all be receiving your new duties....but only in due time”, the voice boomed, before fading into laughter again. Silence reigned in the hall, broken only by the choked sobs coming from Eileen Rourke.

She leaned against Castiel, sinking to her knees. “My wee one...” she cried softly. “I've been gone fer two days now....who's going to look after her? She's only a little baby.....”

Castiel clenched his jaw and looked around the hall, fury gathering in his eyes.

“We're here for Sam and Dean, you son-of-a-bitch,” he growled. “Let these people go!”

There was no response.

Crowley watched as Castiel's head sunk, the utter frustration and helplessness clearly visible. 

“Terry,” he said softly. “I wonder if you could do me a favor?”

The old man nodded stiffly. “Anything ye need.”

“We're going to go up to our rooms now,” Crowley grunted. “I need you to gather the staff in the dining room. We'll meet you there within the hour.”

Terry nodded. “What're ye goin' to do?”

“I'm going to find my two friends, and will get you out of here,” he growled, glancing down at Eileen. “All of you. Even If I have to tear this castle down stone by bloody stone.”

 


	4. It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

 

# It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

The thunder crashed again, shaking the walls. Castiel looked up and watched the light flicker violently for a few seconds before surging back to full power. He looked down at his hand and realized it was clenched around the handle of the suitcase he had just carried into his room, tightly enough that his knuckles were white. He forced out a breath and let go, looking around the suite.

It was the definition of palatial, with soft beige deep shag accent rugs spread out over polished-to-glowing hardwoods. A four-poster bed was set in an easily accessible alcove off from the main room, with light colored sheets and bedspreads set off by a tastefully colorful plaid duvet. There was a work area complete with a computer desk, a apparently fully stocked guest kitchen and a separate reading area/lounge, arranged with leather chairs in front of a dark stone accented fireplace, where a small but robust crackling fire burned, sending off wafts of pleasant wood smoke smells into the room.

It was like walking into another world, one completely different than the rustic Scottish Highland countryside and ancient hulking castle just on the other side of the door. He couldn't stop thinking about why their captors had brought them here, of all places, and if they were indeed somehow targets, why were they being treated with such....extravagance.

He winced as at least a dozen film references to Bond villains feeding and hosting James Bond rushed through his head. It was always in in the lap of luxury, and it was always just before attempting to kill him. The 'gift' that Metatron had given him – the lifetime of pop and cultural references - was like a bad dream at times, unwelcome and foreign in his mind. Those thoughts didn't belong there.

He sighed loudly and paced around the room, searching in the corners and closets for surveillance equipment or something, anything out of place – something that did not fit in with the luxury room. Something that might give him an idea as to who....

“I mean, don't get me wrong, I've been captured and imprisoned before,” Crowley said, startling Castiel out of his search. He had let himself in through Castiel's opened door and was leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets, head swiveling around the room in appraisal. “But I never, and I do mean never, been treated to such luxurious accommodations. I mean, I've half a mind to offer these fellows a job as my personal interior decorator, after we discover who they are, of course.”

Castiel frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “Our first priority is to find Sam and Dean,” he answered. “And then to get the hell out of here. Finding these people is secondary to me.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Oh come now, Castiel, don't tell me that you're aren't eager for a little payback for this charade?”

Castiel hesitated, considering, then shook his head. “Let me rephrase that. Our first priority is Sam and Dean. Second is getting everyone out of here and back to where they belong.”

Crowley shuffled forward into the room, head down. “Careful there, Castiel. Those 'innocent' party guests out there could just as easily be in on this whole thing. We don't really know them.”

Castiel pursed his lip, looking to the side. “That woman....”

“Eileen.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Eileen.” He met Crowley's eyes, holding them fast. “That was no act, Crowley. She is in agony.”

Crowley wiped a hand over his mouth, nodding slowly and letting out a deep breath. “If you say so, Castiel. But yours truly? I'm wont to reserve judgement until I know for sure what's happening here, who the players are, and what the end-game is.”

“Do you believe what Mr. MacGregor said? That we're dealing with some type of Scottish 'spirit'?”

Crowley grinned widely. “One thing I learned growing up in this miserable, yet inexplicably charming countryside, Castiel – there are a million and half ghosts and beasties and 'spirits' here in Scotland – and they all seem to stem from the same origins.”

Castiel frowned. “Where's that exactly?”

Crowley strode further into the room and opened a small cabinet in the kitchen next to the refrigerator. He grunted in satisfaction and then pulled out a glass bottle filled with amber liquid. He turned back to Castiel and smiled, giving it a shake in the air in front of him.

“Glenn Fiddich -Single Malt – aged 24 years,” Crowley said, plinking the bottle down on the counter, rummaging about in a drawer for a bottle opener and then opening the container. He poured himself a glass and raised it towards Castiel.

“Cheers,” he exclaimed, tilting back the glass and downing the generous shot in one gulp.

“So, the ghosts aren't real.” Castiel stated rather than asked.

Crowley grimaced at the aftertaste and shook his head quickly. “Not a chance.”

Castiel walked over and stared at a tasteful oil painting on the wall depicting a picnic in the Highlands, complete with a little girl with red hair done up in pigtails sprinting down a sunny hillside towards her family.

“So, it's a mystery, then, like....”

“So help me, Castiel, if you say 'Sherlock Holmes', I'm going to throw this bottle at you.”

Castiel frowned. “What have you got against Sherlock Holmes.”

Crowley shrugged. “Nothing really. Books were awful – TV series a serious improvement. I just find that he never did the real legwork required to get the results that he did. I mean, c'mon Castiel, he was strung out on heroin half of the time. How many people do you know like that that could tie their shoes in the morning, let alone solve crimes? And match wits with real criminals- true masterminds?”

Castiel cocked his head. “You think Moriarty should have won?”

Crowley poured himself another shot and raised it to his lips. “Goes without saying,” he mumbled lowly while drinking.

Castiel nodded. “OK, then like Scooby-Doo.”

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. “Beg pardon?”

“Scooby-Doo,” Castiel reaffirmed, nodding to himself. “Fake ghosts. Spooky settings. A mystery to solve. It's like Scooby-Doo.”

Crowley watched him in stunned silence for a moment, then grinned, shaking his head and looking down at the counter. “You know something Castiel? That's actually shockingly accurate. More than you actually realize. There's only one thing, though.”

“What's that?”

“I get to be Shaggy.”

Castiel cocked his head. “Why him?”

Crowley shrugged. “Everyone underestimated him. Smarter than he let on, though.”

Castiel frowned. “Who am I, then?”

Crowley didn't hesitate. “Velma.”

Castiel looked confused. “Why Velma?”

“Because, Castiel, you are a total nerd,” Crowley answered, picking up the bottle and grimacing at it. “Horrible stuff. OK then, Mystery Incorporated, let's say we go meet the staff, shall we?”

As if in answer, another bolt of lightning shook the room. There was a faint echo of ghostly laughter coming from the walls, barely audible. Castiel and Crowley scanned around, listening.

“Well, that's not too ominous,” Crowley grumbled, moving out of the kitchen and into the hall. “You coming?”

Castiel watched the ceiling for a few moments longer and then slowly stood up, nodding.

“Yeah. Let's go.”

 

***

 

The dining room was well lit and a couple of places had been set up for dinner when Castiel and Crowley arrived. There were some people generally clustered around one area, a few sitting, others standing, about ten people in all, dressed in assorted hotel uniforms. They varied greatly in ages as well, the oldest being Terry MacGregor, still dressed as a reception clerk, the youngest the bellhop from earlier, Terrance. There was a stout looking man in with a chef's hat wearing a dirty apron standing next to a male waiter, a couple of women in cleaning staff uniforms, a woman dressed in dirty coveralls with a tool belt clipped around her waist, the driver from earlier in the day and a younger man with unkempt and bright red hair in a neat three-piece suit.

Crowley appraised them all, nodded and walked towards the group, Castiel walking close behind him. They all broke off their own private conversations and turned towards them expectantly.

Crowley cleared his throat. “So....I suppose introductions are in order,” he said, slowly scanning the people, trying to get a read on them. The waiter and the the kid in the suit looked away. One of the dark-haired female maids as well. He made a mental note of that. Already nervous, need to keep an eye on those three, he said to himself, memorizing their faces. “Let's start with you,” he said, turning a penetrating gaze on the kid in the suit.

“Ummm...me?”, the kid said, clearly a bit surprised. “Um, why would you....” He licked his lips nervously, trailing off and looking at the waiter, who shrugged.

Crowley didn't break off his intense stare. He's hiding something, they both are....

“Because,” he answered, voice gentle, “you seem to be dressed as a manager of some type. Am I correct in that assumption? Why not start with the one who's supposedly been placed in charge?”

The kid looked relieved for some reason, letting out a breath. Crowley caught the waiter rolling his eyes a bit, looking away.

“Um, yeah, yeah,” the kid answered, running a hand through his hair. “You could say that....”

“I just did,” Crowley said, narrowing his eyes. “Where are you from, anyway? It's not Scotland.”

“No, no, my grandparents are from here,” the kid answered. “They sent me an invitation, and next thing I know, I'm stuck, and can't find a trace of them.”

Castiel frowned. “Your grandparents sent you here? Why?”

The kid looked around. “Well, it is technically their castle....”

“You're a Donahughe?”, Crowley asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah....”

“And has it always been...?”

“Haunted?” the kid answered. “Well, there were stories, but damn, I never believed any of them.”

“And now?”

“Now? Now I can't get out of here, there are things talking out of the damned walls, telling me that I'm the manager of this place now, and I can't even get a cell phone signal.”

Crowley nodded. He looked pointedly at the waiter and then at the girl in the overalls.

“How about you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Name's Deidre. Live about two towns down from here,” she answered in a thick Scottish brogue.

“And how long have you been trapped here?”

She paled. “Three days. I'm told that I'm the maintenance person, which fits, I guess, seein' as to how I'm one back home as well.”

Crowley nodded again, going around the room. The driver was named Joseph, and was also from nearby. The cleaning staff were Kylie and Florence. Kylie was also not from Scotland. She had been on vacation apparently and had gone to sleep in her hotel room in Glasgow and woken up in Castle Donahughe four days ago. The chef's name was Gregory, and also Scottish. The waiter, Simon, was also from the US, and had apparently been the winner of some online contest that got him a room here.

Huh, three Yanks, Crowley mused. Maybe that's why I don't trust them....

He shrugged when he was finished, looking at Castiel.

“Well, folks. It seems my esteemed friend and I have been cast in the roles of the guests. We're also here to find some friends of ours, however, “ he empathized, gazing around the room. “So, we would really, really appreciate it if we were able to help each other out.”

“What do you mean by that?”, Eileen asked. She was seated at a table, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes red-rimmed and tired.

“It means, that if happen to turn up any, for lack of a better word, clues, as to the whereabouts of our two friends, then we will work as hard as we can to get you out of this situation that you find yourself in.”

“How?”, Eileen asked, a small spark of hope appearing in her eyes.

“That means we're going to find who brought you all here, and do something about it,” Crowley answered.

“Or get killed,” Castiel added. Crowley looked back at him, incredulous.

“What?” Castiel said non-plussed. “If we are killed, they'll most likely let them go.”

“Castiel,” Crowley whispered, leaning in. “Maybe it isn't such a good idea to give the trapped people an incentive to kill us, do you follow me?”

Castiel's eyes widened. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” He leaned around Crowley. “Actually, if they kill us, they'll probably have no more use for you, and kill you all as well.”

Tears began to stream out of Eileen's eyes, and Florence stumbled back a couple of steps. Terrance turned pale white, his breath heaving.

“Right,” Crowley said, pressing two fingers on the bridge of his nose. “So, that's that, then.” He looked up after a moment and clapped his hands together, making several of them jump at the sudden noise in the vast castle. “Who's hungry?”

 

 


	5. And the Thunder Rolls

# And the Thunder Rolls

The rain beat down in an uneven heavy rhythm on the brick walls surrounding the carport where the hotel's truck was parked. A figure stepped out of the shadows, approaching another who stood by the truck's cab, a flashlight in hand, pointed down and to the side to help shield the beam.

“Did you check them?”, the first figure asked, speaking in a tone just a bit above a whisper, trying to be heard over the heavy rain, but also not so loud as to be overheard by anyone that might be in the vicinity.

The figure by the cab nodded in the affirmative. “Almost all of them, sir” he answered, stepping away from the cab and nodding at a pile of bags and crates that had been unloaded from the back of the truck and covered with a tarp. He shook his head, sending drops of rain flying in all directions. “What in the world a fella' could be needing so much luggage for, I'll never know.”

The first man nodded. “He's a problem. One that will soon be dealt with. In the meantime, I need to be sure.”

The second man shook his head again quickly. “No sir, as you asked, I checked everything, no weapons. No 'weird' books....also nothing else 'out of the ordinary, as you put it to me, sir. Pretty normal wardrobe and traveling gear – just a  _lot_ of it.”

The first man rubbed his chin, nodding. He looked at the pile and tarp and then back at the other man. “You said that you've checked 'almost everything',” he said, giving the man an intense stare.

The second man gulped. “Um, yes Mr. Donahughe,” he said, looking suddenly nervous. “The big crate that he brought – I couldn't really get it open.”

Mr. Donahughe grimaced and walked over to the tarp, pulling it down and examining the large crate. It was over seven feet tall and at least half again so wide. He picked up the lock in his palm, examined it, then let it drop with a clack back against the crate. He turned towards the other man and squinted in the rain.

“It's just a padlock. Don't you have a crowbar or something, Joseph?”

Joseph nodded, looking back at the cab of his truck. “Yessir, right away sir,” he said, hustling over and opening the driver's door. He pulled out a flat, iron tool tray a little too quickly, and it flew out from under the seat, landing with a crash on the ground, scattering tools everywhere.

Mr. Donahughe looked around them, eyes narrowed.

“Careful, you idiot!,” he hissed. “And try to calm down.”

Joseph looked up at Mr. Donahughe, eyes wide. “Yea...yessir,” he stammered.

Mr. Donahughe smiled like a cat, bending down to help put the tools back into the tray.

“Do I make you nervous Joseph?”, he asked, watching him.

Joseph licked his lips. “Um...no sir. Not at all.”

Mr. Donahughe's hands passed right through the tray as he stood up. Joseph turned white, the blood draining from his face as sweat broke out on his forehead, watching the other man as if he were Death himself.

“”Good. So that we understand each other -  _you_ have nothing to fear from me, Joseph. So long as you do what I say.”

Joseph nodded quickly and gave Mr. Donahughe a nervous smile. He held up a crowbar. “Um, shall we then, sir?”

Mr. Donahughe smiled. “By all means,” he said, holding out his hand towards the crate.

Joseph walked over and placed the crowbar carefully between the lock and the crate. The wind howled and the rain picked up violently, swirling around the small carport like a localized hurricane. Joseph braced himself and looked nervously at Mr. Donahughe.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”, Mr. Donahughe asked, walking a step closer to the crate, seemingly unaffected by the gale raging around them.

Joseph looked back at the crate and squeezed his eyes shut. “Noth....nothing, sir. It's just that....”

“ _What_?”

“I thought that I heard a scraping or something movin' from inside is all....when I checked it before....”

Mr. Donahughe rolled his eyes, stepping closer to look the other man in the eyes. Joseph shrank back.

“Do you think there is anything in there that an individual such as  _I_ should be worried about?”, he asked in a low whisper. By way of demonstration, he faded a bit, the shape of the truck becoming visible through his translucent form.

“No sir!,” Joseph practically yelped, pressing against the crate. Mr. Donahughe nodded.

“Then.... _open the damned crate_.”

Joseph immediately turned his shoulder into the crowbar and twisted. The lock broke free easily, falling to the ground. He looked at it lying there and then at the crate's door. The wind tugged at the door and sent the tarp tumbling away.

“Well?”, Mr. Donahughe asked calmly, nodding slightly at the crate

Joseph gripped the wooden door with a shaky hand, pulling it open a bit.

There was a roar and blast of wind that ripped it out of his hands, flinging the door to the side and breaking off the top hinge. Lightning and thunder struck simultaneously nearby, lighting the two in a stark contrast of brilliant light and deep shadow. The combination of the wind-blown door and the gale-force winds blowing past Joseph spun him around and knocked him over. Mr. Donahughe, mostly by instinct, also flinched aside.

After a few moments, the gale passed and the rain calmed a bit. Both men stood and peered into the crate, Joseph shining his flashlight into it, blinking his eyes to clear them of the after-images from the lightning strike.

The crate was empty, save for a few chains scattered on the floor,r bolted to the rear wall. A pentagram with several symbols drawn in blood was scrawled across the bottom of the crate, several other symbols similarly written on the sides.

Mr. Donahughe walked over and picked one of the chains up, feeding it slowly in his hand until it reached it's end. There was a manacle attached to it. He turned it over, revealing the Devil's Trap inscribed on it.

“Thought you could imprison me, did you?” he sneered, dropping the manacle to the floor. He strode over to the walls and examined them as well.

“Holding spells,” he murmured, reading the symbols. “This was to be a prison, then.”

Mr. Donahughe turned back to Joseph, who was staying outside of the crate, looking around nervously.

“Do....do you smell that, sir?”, he asked, rubbing his hand under his nose. “Bwahh, it  _stinks_ .”

“Sulfur,” Mr. Donahughe answered simply. “These chains have been used to hold Demons before.”

Joseph's eyes went wide. “Demons?  _Real_ Demons?”

Mr. Donahughe rolled is eyes and walked out of the crate, past Joseph who turned his head to follow him.

“Yes, Joseph, real Demons,” he answered, brushing his hands together as if to wipe away dirt. He sighed, straightening and looking up at the dark sky. “Obviously, Mr. Crowley thought to take home a live 'souvenir' from this little trip. Sorry to say, this will  _not_ be working out so well for him.”

He nodded at Joseph and pointed into the crate. “Take those things out. Get Deidre to help you. Do it quietly. Do it quickly. Dump them in the deepest mire that you can find and then seal that crate back up. I will enjoy seeing the look on Crowley's face when he finds out that his trap is disarmed.”

Joseph nodded and hurried back into the castle to get started. Mr. Donahughe watched him go.

“I will enjoy that very, very much....” he said, a smile appearing on his face as he faded from sight, the sound of muted laughter following his departure.

 

***

 

Castiel examined the wooden door leading off from the larder. He rapped at it lightly with two fingers, listening carefully. It was old and had a rusty iron band in the shape of a cross securing it. The chef and waiter had both told him that they had not opened it, as it was locked and apparently had no key.

Crowley had suggested after dinner - since neither of them needed to sleep anyway - to search the castle and find out what they could. Castiel had decided to see if there was a way into a basement or subterranean area, Crowley had taken the upper floors, which were apparently also locked and otherwise unaccessible.

Castiel closed his eyes and did a quick meditation, taking an inventory of the Grace that he had at his disposal. Being completely cut off from Heaven meant that supply was limited. Normally, an Angel never had to think about it not being constantly in tune with the energies of the Heavenly Kingdom, therefore always being maintained and recharged.

He realized that he had never felt quite so _alone_ before, even when he was a human. The soul that he had been granted during that time also resonated with those energies, but this place....it was _dead_ \- completely cut off from any corner of existence that he knew of or had even heard of.

Castiel shivered. He'd heard Angelic scholars speak of the  _possibility_ of such places – a corner of existence that God himself could not see. A lost or forgotten parallel world.

All of those scholars agreed that it should not be possible.

He steadied himself with a deep breath and pushed against the door, it's hinge protesting until it burst through the wood and cracked. Castiel gave it a shove and it creaked open to reveal a dusty storeroom, filled with rotting burlap sacks. Rats scampered away at the sudden light from the kitchen and the rush of air.

Castiel frowned and moved into the room, looking behind the sacks to where the rats had run.

“Now where did you get off to, my little friends?” he whispered, moving back more sacks until he saw a rather good-sized grate set into the moldy brick wall. He leaned over to it and listened.

There was a steady plink-plink and the sound of running water coming from somewhere below the grate. Castiel nodded and gripped the iron bars with both hands, yanking it free from the walls, mortar and chunks of brick flying away.

He closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness and stumbled back against the far wall, hand going to his eyes. He breathed heavily and hastily took a register on his remaining Grace.

Pulling the gate loose had cost him only a very small fraction of power, it seemed, nothing inordinately taxing. He frowned. Apparently even small uses of power like this were going to be physically draining. He made a mental note to be more careful in the near future and moved back to the opening, peering down into it.

He squinted against the darkness and saw a wet, rough-hewn stone wall, angling down a ramp-like passage deeper into the bowels of the castle.

Castiel swiftly jumped down into the passage and moved down the ramp, following the sounds of water. He pulled out his Angel's Blade and risked infusing it with a little power to give off a blue glow of light. The narrow passage twisted and turned until it came to a flat, round area, covered in an iron grate. Castiel looked back up the ramp. It was down far enough that he could not see where he came in anymore. He did see several stone gutters coming down the walls from various directions, though, rainwater steadily flowing down them towards the grate covered floor. The room was built to prevent flooding, apparently. He turned around and saw another wooden door leading off of the room, warped and cracked in it's frame. He saw a rat's tail disappear over one of the lower boards and walked over to it, pulling what was left of the door open.

There were moldy, greenish steps leading down. The sound of rushing water was louder now.

Castiel grimaced and moved down the stairway. Water dripped from the ceiling onto him, but he ignored it, focused on moving on. After a good five minute decent, he reached a tunnel running in two directions. The air was stagnant and full of mold. He held his blade up in front of his now dripping hair and peered in both directions.

He neither heard or saw a thing.

“Dean?” he called out, the sound of his voice swallowed by the tunnel. He looked the other way. “Sam?”

He frowned and decided to go in the opposite direction of the flowing water. If there was a prison area somewhere down here, they wouldn't have designed it to drown the captives, it'd most likely be upstream. He dropped down off of the last step and found himself in knee- deep water, his trenchcoat billowing out around his legs.

He moved swiftly, the footing solid even under the running water. He kept a sharp eye out for a door or indication of an antechamber or side room, the water slowly getting lower as he moved on a slightly uphill angle.

He heard a loud splash behind him and he spun, blade held out, eyes narrowed, scanning the murky water. It had gone eerily still, the only sound the gently rushing water and the occasional rumble of thunder from outside. He took a tentative step forward.

Something wet, scaly and  _large_ exploded out of the water right in front of him, webbed hands coated with sharp shells and barnacles reaching for his throat. Castiel sprung back in time, receiving only a small cut of his extended sword arm before getting into a defensive stance.

Water ran off in rivulets from the creature, it's bulbous, white eyes studying Castiel with evil intent. It let out a low hiss and crouched lower. All over it's body, it's green skin was coated, like it's arms, in razor sharp shells and crustaceans. Castiel turned his Angel Blade in his hand, bringing the blunt end up. The creature rumbled again low in it's throat in warning.

It sprang with a roar, the water around it exploding in all directions. Castiel, relying on a millennia of battlefield experience, expertly dodged to the side and slammed the end of the Angel's Blade directly into the base of the thing's skull. It let out a low grunt and crashed face first into the stream of water, holding itself up on shaky limbs. Castiel clenched his jaw and brought the club down a second time. This time, the creature fell face first into the water and stayed down.

Castiel turned his head quickly from side to side, scanning to see if it had help. He stared at the water, realizing that there could be any number of them on the way to him, and he wouldn't be able to see them in the murk. He stepped over the still form and raced further uphill along the passage, hoping to find a dungeon or alcove.  _Maybe the creature had been guarding Sam and Dean_ , Castiel thought.

The passage continued upward until the stones under his feet were damp, but mostly water-free. It twisted around a bend and came to an end at a staircase leading upward.

Castiel frowned and turned back to look into the tunnel. He sighed, realizing that he wouldn't be able to search in the other direction without a good measure of back-up. He turned and hurried up the steps, which spiraled steeply upwards towards the castle proper. He came to at least three barred iron gates on his way up. He forced them open and barred them shut behind him, hopefully discouraging any pursuers. He finally reached a large oak-door, very similar to the one he had entered through in the larder. This one had an unlocked handle, which opened out onto a rampart. He squinted into the rain and then, reluctantly, turned and shut the door behind him, barring it with the thick wooden beam attached to it. A second set of stairs wound around the outside of the castle down to the inner courtyard.

Even though his search was unsuccessful, he did want to tell Crowley what he did find, and warn the others about the monster, or  _monsters_ , lurking in the depths of the castle.

He glanced up into the stormy night and saw a ghostly figure drifting around the upper ramparts. It turned towards him, and Castiel could make out a soft, moaning sound coming from it. It had the form of a woman in a long, flowing gown, and it turned and regarded him for a second or two before turning and floating through the stone wall.

_Monsters_ , Castiel thought.  _Definitely_ plural.  _Monsters_ ....

 


	6. The Plot Thickens....

# The Plot Thickens....

Crowley cocked his head and listened. The moaning did not repeat itself for a long while and he shrugged dismissively.  _Just the wind_ , he thought, turning back to the iron-banded wooden door and tapping at it again lightly with his fingers. He tried the handle one more time, and, as before, it did not budge. He frowned, thinking that he could simply rip this door off of it's hinges, but that meant expending some of his Demonic power he was holding in careful reserve.  _Better to be conservative only when necessary_ , he concluded, but this door was going nowhere without a little push....

He shoved hard and the door shattered the mortar frame that it was attached to, falling inward, sending up a plume of dust as it slammed to the floor, the sound echoing throughout the entire castle. Once the dust settled, he took a step forward and immediately began to pant hard, completely out of breath.

_Damn_ , he thought,  _that's going to prove problematic_ ....if every time that he used his power he almost passed out....

He shook his head and stared into the empty stairwell beyond leading up. It was obvious that the area had seen no activity in at least forty or fifty years. Cobwebs and the smell of wet mold and decay permeated every inch of the place. Crowley wrinkled his nose and started forward.

He reached a landing where a dusty, rickety wooden banister had once stood. The wood had long ago given way to dry-rot and had fallen away in several places. Crowley traced his finger slowly over an edge of it that was still standing and looked around him.

“I hope Castiel is having more luck than yours truly,” he mumbled. “Because no one's been here in ages.” He shook the dust off of his finger ans turned back towards the stairwell, deciding to look elsewhere. If Sam and Dean were indeed being hidden away, it wasn't here.

He froze, staring at the wall at the bottom of the stairs, next to the door he had forced open.

There were footprints in the dust. Several of them. And they seemed to lead into the wall.

Encouraged, Crowley trotted back down the stairs and stood in front of the wall near the footprints, running his fingers along the seams of the bricks. He stopped when he found a loose brick. He pushed his fingers in between it and the neighboring stone and pulled.

There was an audible click deep from within the stone and the wall pushed free from a hidden latch, swinging inwards. Crowley poked his head around the edge and peered in.

There was a modern, carpeted hallway leading off into a series of doors, arranged like an office.

“A  _secret door_ ?”, he grumbled. “Someone has been reading too many bad detective novels.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode into the hallway, whistling loudly.

“Anyone home?” he called out. “Uncle Crowley's come for a chat.”

He tried the first door and it opened into an office that was sparsely decorated. There were computer and usb hookups, but no equipment. He frowned. It was set up to be used, but otherwise unoccupied.  _Strange_ , he puzzled, walking around the desk slowly, noting the full pad of Post-It notes, unsharpened pencils and unused notepads.

Finding nothing worth noting, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

The other five doors along the walls all led to similar offices. Seven in all, three on each side. The only one he hadn't tried was the one at the end of the hall.

He paused outside of it and noticed the faint impression of dusty footprints in the carpet. He put his ear up against the door and, hearing nothing, opened it.

This office had definitely been in use. There were charts and whiteboards against the walls, chaotically filled with photos of himself, Dean, Sam and Castiel., along with various notes describing their locations and movements. On closer examination, it appeared to be going back at least four months.

Crowley rubbed his chin.  _Right around the time all of the latest 'end of the world' business started_ ....he mused.  _Curiouser and curiouser_ .

He moved to the desk, which had two chairs placed in front of it. There was no nameplate or drawers on the desk, but there was a Mac laptop hooked up to a large Thunderbolt monitor. Crowley flipped it open and was greeted by a password screen. 

_Great._

He tried the obvious ones – ' _password_ ', ' _secret_ ', ' _god_ ', ' _sex_ ' and a few other choice words, gradually degrading in their cultural acceptability as he went along, finally giving up with a huff after typing in ' _bloody cretin_ '.

_Where was Charlie when you needed her_ ?

Crowley moved back over to the board and resumed scanning it. 

_Oh,_ there _she is – not that it does me a fat load of good_ , he thought sarcastically when he saw a note attached next to a picture of her. The picture was affixed atop a US map, with New Orleans circled several times. Written on the whiteboard were the words ' _lying bitch_ !'. Crowley read them and squinted in confusion. Someone had made a half-hearted attempt to wipe those words away.

Crowley sighed, looking around the room again. Not a clue as to Dean and Sam's location, or who they were actually dealing with, for that matter.  _Ah well, it's better than nothing_ , he thought, walking towards the door.

He stopped short, seeing something wedged between the wall and one of the whiteboards. He pulled it out and flipped it over, frowning.  _A business card_ ?  _Now who on earth_ ...?

He froze, suddenly recognizing the name, memories making the connection.

_But that's_ impossible....he thought, looking around, then tucking the card into his suit-jacket's pocket.  _I saw you die_ ....He glanced back at the board and the picture of Charlie, the pieces falling into place. He sighed, berating himself.  _Shame on me for not recognizing the little bastard_ ...o _nly saw him for a second or two, but still_ .... _I need to pay more attention to the supporting characters it seems_ ....

Crowley mused as he walked out of the office and closed the door gently behind him.  _So, at least I know with_ whom _we're dealing with_ ....t _he real question now is_ why _are we dealing with him_ .

He looked up into the hall and took an involuntary step backwards.

A nightmare from his oldest and darkest memories floated in the air in front of him. He felt his limbs stiffen and his blood run ice cold.

A creature with the body of a woman dressed in a tattered white gown floated there, her eyes lost in sunken, dark pits, her mouth hanging open lazily gruesomely. Her hand was raised, a finger extended and pointing directly at Crowley, a low moan filling the air, emanating from her distended mouth.

“Holy mother....” Crowley whispered. He held up his hand defensively, preparing to summon dark energy to blast the thing, then hesitated, remembering the near fainting spell hea had experienced after only using a fraction of his energy on the stairwell door.

He regarded the creature for a moment, then began to summon his power anyway....he was _not_ about to let that thing touch him....

The monster opened her mouth wider, the moan increasing in volume, then, in a blink, she disappeared and re-appeared inches from Crowley's outstretched arm.

Crowley yelped in surprise and turned the handle on the office door, falling backward into the darkened room. The creature's dark eyes turned towards him and it started forward,  _ reaching _ ....her distended jaw hanging further open, drool pooling at her blue lips, the sound of the moaning filling the air, every conscious thought.....

A spike of silvery metal sprung out of it's chest and the creature let out a horrifying wail of pain. It dissipated a second later, leaving Crowley's ears ringing.

“Crowley! I saw that thing floating through the wall up here....I thought it might be coming for you....” Castiel said, stepping forward through the vanishing haze where the monster had once stood.

“Astute observation, choir-boy,” Crowley grumbled, holding out his hand for help up. Castiel grasped it, pulling him to his feet. “And that 'it', was a Banshee, by the way.”

Castiel frowned. “I thought they were louder than that. Are you sure?”

Crowley dusted off his backside and grimaced. “Do you think there's a person alive that was raised in Scotland that doesn't know what a _real_ Banshee looks like? No, that was one allright. The shrieking part is only an urban myth. What's really problematic is what they mean.”

Castiel looked into the office and stepped inside, looking around. “What's that?”, he asked absently, absorbed in reading the charts and notes.

Crowley walked in behind him. “Their appearance portends only one thing, every time,” he said. Castiel looked back at him, frowning.

“Death,” Crowley finished, raising his eyebrows. “And they are bloody accurate about it. If it had actually touched me, it would have meant my own.”

Castiel nodded. “Good thing that it didn't, then.”

“Obviously. I could have blasted that Banshee, I was actually preparing to do just that, but.....”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You didn't try to use your powers, did you?”

Crowley shook his head. “Thanks, but no, I figured that one out on my own. Hazardous to the health, that. Again, thanks for the save.” He nodded into the office. “C'mon Castiel, I got what we needed out of here.”

“What's that?”

“A name. A very important one. Let's go.”

“Where?”

“To find that little bastard posing as the hotel manager. He's an old acquaintance of ours. How did your search go?”

Castiel filled him in on what he had found in the flooded basement, and gave him details of the attack and the creature that had tried to kill him.

“A Shellycoat....”Crowley mused when Castiel was finished.

“A....what?”

“I know, not the most original name in the world....” Crowley groused. “Sometimes we Scots can be extremely literal.....it's a creature from Scottish lore.” He frowned walking out of the office and heading down the hall. “That's the second monster from Scottish folklore that we've encountered. I wonder why?”

“Because....we're in Scotland?” Castiel offered hesitantly.

Crowley closed his eyes slowly and sighed. “Yeah....ok....I had that coming....” He shook his head and looked back at Castiel. “No, what I mean is, why are we being attacked by creatures from Scottish folklore at all? If they had wanted us dead, they could have attempted that any number of ways. Seems a bit....I don't know.... _melodramatic_ to me is all.”

Castiel nodded. “I don't pretend to understand the motives of our opponents at times,” he answered. “It would help to know who they are.... you mentioned that we knew the hotel manager from somewhere?” Castiel asked, hurrying behind as Crowley began to move down the hallway with a single-minded purpose towards the stairwell.

Not breaking his urgent stride, Crowley pulled the business card out of his jacket and handed it to Castiel, who read it and stopped short.

“But....I saw him....we  _both_ saw him die....”

Crowley continued down the stairs, calling back over his shoulder. “Read my mind, Castiel. Let's go sort that little bastard out, shall we?”

 


	7. ….and the Lightning Strikes

# ….and the Lightning Strikes

Florence turned down the corner of the sheet and sighed, looking up at her companion Kylie.

“Why are we wasting our time doing this again?” she asked, sitting back on the floor and folding her legs indian-style. She ran a hand through her hair and then rested her chin on it, her elbow on her knee. “I mean, I was a bank executive. Now I'm cleaning rooms.”

Kylie nodded and sat in one of the rooms chairs. “We do it because we're scared, obviously,” Florence met her eyes and frowned. “I mean, I am, aren't you?” Kylie asked.

“I suppose so,” Florence answered slowly. “I'm just...I mean, I can't figure out what they want from us. _That's_ what's driving me nuts. What, we're kidnapped from our lives and then told to play hotel staff? For what _possible_ reason would someone do that to us?” She ran an exhausted hand over her face and grunted, standing up. “Wonder what would happen if we just said 'no', know what I mean?”

Kylie shrugged. “I think they made that pretty clear. What was it again? 'Do as I say and you get to live.' Seems pretty damned straightforward to me.”

Florence sighed. “Yeah, yeah, but, it's just a disembodied voice, you know? You ever wonder if it's all like – you know – some kind of scientific test? Human behavior or something? To see if we'll just keep playing along? I've never seen anything dangerous here. You?”

Kylie cocked her head. “Oh, I get these feelings once in a while....”

A bolt of lightning struck somewhere close outside, and the door to the hotel room slammed open, causing Florence to jump back with a small shriek.

“Wow, that was a close one....”she exclaimed, taking a deep breath and looking back at Kylie.

Kylie was still staring at the door, eyes wide.

Florence felt a cold chill go through her. “Wh....what is it.....what's wrong?” she asked softly, slowly turning her head to look in Kylie's direction.

A gaunt figure stood in the doorway, water dripping off it's tattered clothing slowly to the floor. It's face was horribly, impossibly elongated, and it's arms....what is wrong with it's arms...??!! Florence gasped, her mind uncomprehending what she was seeing.

The creature's lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing long, sharp , yellowed teeth. A rotting smell reached Florence and she felt a surge of panic, scrambling backwards into the corner of the room. Unfortunately, there was only one way out. Florence'a eyes went wide in panic as the thing took another step into the room. She tried to scream, looking around the room frantically for something to defend herself with. She picked up a table lamp and held it in front of her body as the creature continued to advance, drool gathering at it's jaws, a deep rumble coming from it's throat. She noticed Kylie out of the corner of her eye, standing stock still.

“R...r...run Kylie,” she managed to squeak out. “Run....”

The creature kept it's eyes locked on Florence, however, moving past Kylie, focused only on it's prey.

It sprang, and Florence swung the heavy brass lamp with everything that she had. It struck the creature directly on the temple, sending it stumbling to the floor. Florence felt a surge of adrenaline that pushed her legs involuntarily in a leap over it's nearly prone form towards the door.

“RUN KYLIE!” she screamed, her breath returning as she bolted for the door. Kylie didn't move as Florence leapt past her, seemingly frozen.

Florence paused just for a second, meaning to reach back and drag the other woman with her.

A steely grip hit her ankle, immediately pulling her off balance and dragging her to the floor with unearthly strength. Her head cracked against the floor with a sickening sound and the room spun. With a bellow of rage, the monster pulled Florence to it's open jaws.

There was a cracking, wet sound, cutting off Florence's gasp of panic.

Kylie screamed as blood flew all over the room in a violent spray.

 

***

 

Castiel stopped when he heard the scream. Crowley, a few feet in front of him, merely slowed, scanning around.

“Whad'ya suppose that was?” he murmured, turning his head trying to locate the source.

“Someone....someone in trouble,” Castiel replied, pulling out his Angel's Blade and moving past Crowley into the hall towards the main stairwell's landing.

The scream came again.

Castiel took off in a blur of motion, pinpointing the direction, taking the stairs up three at a time. He turned down a hallway towards an open door where the scream had come from and ran in.

A gaunt, hellish-looking creature had climbed onto the bed in the center of the room, perched above one of the maids, Kylie. Blood covered it's claw-like hands and muzzle. Gore dripped from seemingly every corner of the room. A limp form lay in the corner, almost unrecognizable as a human body.

Kylie looked at Castiel, her eyes wide with fright. “Help me,” she mouthed silently, staring at him.

With a snarl, the creature turned it's head slowly towards Castiel, it's teeth shimmering scarlet with fresh blood. It stared at him for a few seconds, then, with a bellow of rage, sprang at him.

Castiel tried to get out of the way, but the narrow doorway and wall behind him prevented it. The creature plowed into him like a locomotive, with the strength of a bull. It's claws and fangs flashed, and it was all Castiel could do to fend off the frenzied attack.

It bulldozed him to the side and into the banister on the main stairs, and they both broke through. Castiel caught a glimpse of a startled Crowley as they flew past him. They landed on the stone floor four stories down with a deafening crash.

Castiel heard a whimper from the monster and looked up. He was somehow unable to move. He then noticed why.

He was impaled through the chest with a large broken-off piece of the banister.

He groaned and grabbed it with both hands, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hang on, Castiel, I'll be right there!” Crowley called, his voice faint and buzzing in Castiel's ears. He was losing too much blood.

He yanked with all of his strength and pulled the wood free, a gasp of air leaving his lungs as the beam clattered to the floor next to him. He closed his eyes and leaned back, pain washing over him. He heard a scrambling noise and forced his eyes open.

The monster was on it's hands and knees, and trying to reach him once again. Castiel glanced towards the sounds of shoes slamming on the stairs and saw Crowley racing towards him.

Too far....too far away.....

The creature opened it's mouth and lunged at Castiel's throat.

Grace flooded through Castiel as he healed his wound. Strength immediately flooded into his limbs and he reached up with one hand and caught the surprised monster in mid-spring by it's own throat. In the same motion, his other hand came up, slamming the Angel Blade into it's heart.

It let out a sharp whine and fell limply to the side.

The room began to spin and turn black as the use of his Angelic Power began to drain Castiel.

“Easy....easy there big fella,” came Crowley's voice from somewhere next to him. “That was a lot of power you just used there....you O.K.?”

Castiel shook his head and let his head fall back to the floor in exhaustion.

“Well at least that's...” Crowley began.

He was cut off as a vicious snarl filled the air, and another of the creatures slammed into him. Crowley tumbled back and landed sprawled a few feet away, the monster lunging at him.

Instinctively, he raised his hand and blasted the thing with Hellfire.

There was a shrill scream and the smell of burnt hair as the monster disintegrated in mid-leap. Crowley gasped as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He fell onto his back and groaned.

“As I was saying,” Crowley grunted. “At least that's over....”

Castiel managed to grunt in reply and nod his head a little, still too weak to stand. “What were those things.....?”

“Scottish werewolves,” Crowley grunted. “Nasty buggers. Can shapeshift into other wild beasts as well. Lucky for us they didn't show up as horses.”

Castiel's forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why would horses have been any worse that that?”

“Have you ever seen a pissed off Scottish horse before?” Crowley asked, eyebrows raising.

The sound of echoing, ghostly laughter filled the hall.

“Now that....that's more like it.....” the voice called out. “Nothing like a good fight to get those Angel and Demon energies flowing properly.”

Crowley groaned and sat up, holding his head. He felt like he had just woken up from an Irish wake. In Scotland.

“We....know who you are, you little shit....” he growled, voice barely a whisper.

“Do you now?” the voice answered, amused. “Let's test that theory, shall we.....?”

A shimmering figure walked through a wall across the main room from where Castiel and Crowley were lying on the ground. It's face was indistinct.

“So....who am I?” it said, shrugging exaggeratedly.

“One of Vandecourte's little basement bunnies. Trevor, I believe the name was. We met in New Orleans a few months back.”

The figure considered him for a few seconds and then began a slow clap, it's face resolving into a teenager with freckles and wild red-hair. He was still dressed as the Hotel Manager.

“Bonus points, Crowley. I'm impressed.”

“Don't be. We found your office. Wasn't hard to put the pieces together after that.”

Trevor cocked his head. “How's that?”

“You were still bitching about Charlie, for one,” Crowley answered smiling, watching the teen carefully for a reaction. Trevor began to glower. “Tell me something – did you actually believe you had a chance with her? Because, believe me, sunshine, I've met some dupes before in my time, but _that_....”

“ _She led me on_!”, Trevor yelled back, fists balling. “And then she turns out to be a filthy lesbo!”  
“Oh, tsktsktsk, do watch that redneck mentality, Trevor. It's one thing to be from New Orleans, and quite another to be _from_ New Orleans, get my drift?”, Crowley admonished.

“Whatever,” Trevor spat. “Doesn't matter. Got bigger fish to fry.” He grinned at he two of them. “Like you, for instance.”

“See? That's where I'm confused. One: we saw you die back there in New Orleans. The Old One took care of that.”

Trevor smiled. “Maybe I'm a ghost now. That ever crossed your mind?”

Crowley's eyes narrowed. “Yeah, It did, actually. But that's not the whole story, now , is it?”

Trevor glared at him, not answering.

“You see, ghosts, _real ones_ that is, they're kind of single minded. They don't put on elaborate shows like the one that you're putting on here for whatever reason. That – that makes you something else.”

“What's that then?”

Crowley smiled. “Not sure yet. But believe me. I'm going to find out.”

Trevor smiled back coolly. “Can't wait.”

“What are you doing with Sam and Dean?”, Castiel asked, making his way unsteadily to his feet. “Do you even have them at all? Or did you use trick Charlie into thinking that you did?”

Trevor rubbed his chin, considering. “Fair enough. Nah, I'll let you figure that out for yourself.”

He pulled something out of his pocket that looked like a two-way radio and pushed a button. “Hello boys....” he said into it, watching Castiel and Crowley.

“Who....who's that...?” came a raspy voice from the other end.

“Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Cas? Cas is that you.....?!” Dean's voice answered.

“Cas,” Sam's voice broke in. “Cas, it's a trap! Don't use your....” The voice cut off as Trevor let go of the button, grinning at them.

“Ah, but that'd be telling now, wouldn't it?” Trevor cooed. “So, what do you think? Do I have Sam and Dean or what?”

“I don't understand – what do you want from us?” Castiel growled, stepping forward.

Trevor shrugged, moving backwards into the wall. “Simple enough. Stay alive. Solve the mystery. If you can....” he continued, his voice fading away into laughter as he disappeared into the stones.

“Corny much?” Crowley grumbled as he stood up and leaned back against the wall for support. “I don't know about you, Castiel, but that blast took a lot out of me. You allright?”

Castiel continued to glare at the spot where Trevor had disappeared. He finally turned back to Crowley with a growl.

“I'm fine. We need to protect the rest of these people, though.”

Crowley nodded weakly. “Let's round 'em up, then cowboy.” He pushed himself away from the wall and stopped, letting out a breath. “You know what I'm thinking?”

“What's that?”

“That we're in the middle of some kind of coup. With Vandecourte out of the picture, and the Angel and the Demon sidelined, our little Trevor here is gathering all of his resources and making some kind of power play.” He scratched at his beard. “What I can't figure is; why involve us?”

Castiel looked back at him, eyes blazing. “I don't know and I don't care. All I know is that innocent people are dying, and others are suffering and in danger. And I intend to do something about that.”

He strode up the stairs towards Kylie, who had been watching everything from the ruined stairwell. He gathered her in and walked her down towards the reception area, glancing briefly into the bloody hotel room on the way past.

Crowley watched him go, then spared a glance at he ruined corpses of the were-creatures on the floor, frowning to himself.

“What's your game, Trevor?” he whispered to himself before following Castiel. What's your bloody game?”

 


	8. Real House-Ghosts of the Scottish Hills

# Real House-Ghosts of the Scottish Hills

“And just who in the hell is Trevor?!” Gregory, the chef, asked, hand trembling around a glass of whiskey, spilling a few drops to the ground. His eyes darted fervently back and forth between Castiel and Crowley, sweat beading-up on his forehead. He glanced down at his hand, as if he had forgotten the drink was there, and swiftly downed it in one gulp, wiping a hand across his mouth.

The others were seated at tables in the dining room, where Crowley had asked everyone to gather. He had just explained to everyone about finding out that the 'manager' was really Trevor in disguise, and that Florence had been killed. Kylie sat with her hands covering her face in a darkened corner, visibly shaking.

“Well, he might be a ghost,” Castiel said. “We're not really 100% certain about that.”

Gregory stared at him with wide eyes. “A.... a  _what_ ?”

Crowley sighed, holding up a hand. “Please excuse my partner, he's easily excitable.” He glanced at Castiel, who frowned back at him. “We ran into this gentleman a little while back is all, and we believed that he had been killed at the time. Apparently, we were mistaken.”

Terry stood up from his chair, wrinkled eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute....are you sayin' that it was  _you two_ that thought you killed him, and now he's out for revenge?”

“No, a man named Joshua Vandecourte killed him,” Castiel replied instantly, just as Crowley was opening his mouth. “Well, he wasn't really a man, he was being inhabited by an Old One at the time - a being known as Hastur the Unspeakable. One of the chief among the Old Gods if you will. But still, to answer your question, yes, it is entirely possible that Trevor is specifically targeting us. And um....you people have, unfortunately, become entangled in it. I'm sorry.”

Dead silence filled the room as they all looked at him, dumbfounded.

“Just what in the _hell_ is he on about!!” Gregory shouted. The others stood up and began shouting at each other and at Castiel, waving their arms, and casting very disparaging glances in Castiel's direction.

Crowley closed his mouth with an audible clack, and sighed heavily. He then pushed a hand through his hair and turned toward Castiel. “Well, _that_ could have been phrased slightly better....” he mumbled to himself.

“Have I ever mentioned what an  _absolute pleasure_ it is working with you at times?” he asked Castiel, an exaggerated, fake smile on his face.

“Did I....say something wrong again?”, Castiel answered. “I only said....”

Crowley nodded. “Yes, yes, the truth, Castiel. It's not your fault. Really and truly. I get it. Angel and all. Probably somewhere in that sub-routine of yours to tell no lies....” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Trouble is, that doesn't really play along well with human psychology 101, so....if you could do me a  _humongous_ favor and not speak for....well, for just a little while, while I calm everyone down here, that would be just peachy.”

Crowley turned away, hands in the air. “People, people, can I have your attention for just a moment, please?!”

A few of them stopped their conversations and sat back down, they were all still obviously agitated.

“What's the matter with your friend there?” Eileen asked, staring at Crowley. “He talks like...”

“He's got a screw loose, I know,” Crowley said gently. “Trust me, he's harmless. Mostly.” Eileen cocked her head at him. “I'm kidding. Wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“Then....what happened to Florence then? Was it this Trevor fella?” Terry asked.

“Tell them,” a small voice came from the back table. Kylie had raised a tear streaked face to them. She had stayed quiet the whole time. “Go ahead. Why are you afraid to let them know? Tell them what killed Florence.”

“I really don't think that's a good idea right now,” Crowley said cautiously. “I mean, are you even certain what you saw up there? You're in shock.”

Kylie smiled crookedly at him. “I'm not some delicate little flower, mister.” She stood up. “Maybe that fellow in the trenchcoat there is telling the truth. Maybe there actually are things going on here that are out of the ordinary.”

Castiel nodded.

“Why, what killed her, Kylie?”, the waiter Simon asked quietly.

“It was a werewolf,” Kylie answered, her gaze not wavering from Crowley's eyes, not blinking. “A snarling, raging, foaming at the mouth frikking real-life werewolf.” She looked around at the others and wiped her nose with her arm. “And I say, if that fellow there says that Trevor is a ghost, I say we listen to him. Because something's going on here, people, and it is NOT normal.” She sat back down and crossed her arms under her chest, glaring at Crowley as if daring him to disagree with her. “So, if you please, stop treating us like children and let us know the whole damned story.”

Crowley met her gaze and smiled. “Quite right.” He looked at Castiel and held out his hand. “It appears that the floor is yours.”

Castiel watched him as he poured himself a drink and sat down at one of the tables. He then proceeded to prop his feet up and put his hands behind his head, watching Castiel expectantly.

Castiel sighed.

“Look, I am not trying to alarm anyone here. But you are all in very serious danger. And there are, in fact, dangerous things running around loose here.”

“Like what”, the little boy Terrance asked quietly. “More werewolves?”

Castiel swallowed. “Possibly. Also, we've encountered some creatures in the basement. I believe that I've locked them away.”

“What sort of 'creatures'?'” Simon asked, eyebrows raising.

“Ummm...I believe my associate Crowley called them 'Shelleycoats'”.

There was a loud guffaw from Deidre. She had been listening to everything a bit off to the side from the others, arms folded over her chest.

“Riiiiiight, and I suppose next ye'll be tellin' us that Banshees and Selkies and God knows what else is roamin' these halls as well?”

Castiel nodded nonchalantly. “Banshees, yes. I....don't know what that other thing is....”

Deidre watched him, eyes wide. She pointed a finger at him, her head looking around the room.

“Are any of ya' believn' this nonsense?” she asked, incredulous. She turned back towards Castiel. “Mister, I dunno what ye've been drinkin', but it's best you better put it away for now and stop scarin' folks for no good reason.”

“No good reason? Florence is dead, Deidre!” Kylie shouted, standing up. “And I saw what did it.”

Deidre rounded on her. “No, you  _think_ you saw what did it to her. You've been practically catatonic for the last half-hour. It's like that Crowley fella said. Yer in shock, girl. There's no tellin'  _what_ you really saw.” She walked up to Castiel and jabbed a finger in his chest. “And yer takin' advantage of it, buddy. You and yer tall tales.”

“Deidre”, the driver, Joseph said, clearing his throat. “The fella might actually be right....”

Deidre turned her head around, eyes narrowing. “What are ye talkin' about Joseph?”

Joseph looked sheepish, looking pointedly at the floor. “That fella, Mr. Donahughe, er...Trevor....I've, I've seen him do things....” He looked up at Castiel. “He might really be a ghost.”

Deidre slowly walked away from Castiel, regarding Joseph carefully. “You....you knew all this...and you never bothered to mention this ta anyone?” she asked in an unbelieving whisper.

Joseph looked away and then back at her. “I was scared, OK?” He looked around her towards Crowley, who had removed his feet from the table and was leaning forward interestedly, listening. “He told me....to do things...threatened me....”

“What kind of things?” Crowley asked.

Joseph shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, I looked through yer luggage...he told me to check fer weapons....also, old books or symbols. I thought it pretty strange.”

“Did he now?” Crowley asked, leaning back. “All of the luggage?”

Joseph nodded and swallowed hard. “Yep.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Crate too?”

Joseph nodded again. “Especially that.”

Crowley tapped a finger on the table, considering something. “Well, that's....unfortunate now, isn't it?”

Castiel frowned. “Why, what was in that crate anyway?”

Crowley looked up at Joseph. “Why don't you tell him?”

Joseph frowned and looked at Castiel. “Nothing much, some symbols and a bunch of iron chains with weird markings on them.” He shrugged. “Trevor had me destroy the lot.”

Castiel looked back at Crowley. “Demon chains? Why would you need those?”

Crowley was watching Joseph, then he stood up, smiling. “Never know what can come in handy now, do you?” He strolled casually away from the dining room into the main entryway, looking around the room.

“Did you get all that, Trevor?” he called out, his voice echoing off the walls.

A disembodied slow chuckle filled the halls.

“I figured you'd been listening in this whole time,” Crowley continued. “Probably knew every move we've made before we even made it.”

“Of course I have,” a deep, ominous voice answered back. “I especially liked the part where you thought that you were the Scooby-Doo gang. Very cute.”

Crowley smiled. “You liked that, did you? Pretty fond of it myself as well.” He scratched his chin. “So, what's the game, Trevor? You going to keep sending monsters at us and these fine folks until you kill us all?”

“Something like that.”

Crowley frowned. “And Sam and Dean?”

“Live bait. You're too smart to fall for the dead kind. The second you think that they're dead, you'll just give up. Can't have that now, can I?”

Crowley nodded, considering. “No chance that you'd just tell us where they are, is there?”

Trevor laughed again. “Oh c'mon! You're supposed to be detectives, right?! The castle is big, but it's not limitless. You'll find them I think....right before the end.”

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

He was answered by silence.

Crowley walked back to the open dining area, where the others had been watching. He sighed heavily.

“Well, that was less than informative. Anyone else got any ideas?”

“How're we supposed ta fight that?” Terry asked. “He's some kinda bloody spirit, he is.”

Deidre shook her head. “We still haven't seen a thing to prove that there's any kind of supernat-”

She was abruptly cut off as the door to the kitchen burst outwards, wood shards flying as if from an explosion. Three gangly figures covered in razor-sharp shells and dripping water everywhere flew out and, with a loud bellow, charged at them.

“They got through!”, Castiel shouted, his Angel Blade falling into his hand. He vaulted over three tables to cut off the creatures, barrelling into them and sending them skidding back into the stone wall.

“Lord have mercy....” Terry shouted, making the sign of the cross over himself as he back-pedaled. “Shelleycoats..... _real_ Shelleycoats....”

Castiel grunted and took up a defensive stance. The monsters hissed in rage and stalked forward slowly.

“Stay back!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Crowley, do you think you could manage to get them out of here?”

Castiel eyed the creatures warily. There was no answer from behind him.

“Crowley....?!” he shouted, daring a glance over his shoulder.

Everyone else was standing behind Crowley, who had positioned himself in front of three snarling Scottish were-creatures, who had blocked off the hall.

Castiel spun back to the Shelleycoats. _I have to finish this quickly_.....he thought, sending Grace into the Blade.

He felt the room immediately spin. Dark shadows gathered at the corners of his vision as he struggled to keep his feet under him. The creatures in front of him, sensing his distress, charged forward.

Using every bit of strength and speed he could summon, Castiel brought the Blade around in a great sweeping arch, charged with Angel Grace. It cut through one of the monster's arms without slowing, sending it spinning to the ground. It continued through the neck of the second creature and caught the third in the chest. They fell immediately to the ground, wounds smoking, blue light shining around the laser-clean cuts. The injured one

howled in pain and rage and turned back into the kitchen, running.

Castiel turned back to Crowley and the rest of the group, vision blurred. He stumbled to one knee.

He saw Crowley blast two of the werewolves with Hellfire, then fall lifeless like a sack of grain to the floor. The third growled and began rushing forward towards his prone form.

Castiel gritted his squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, flying to the spot using a burst from his wings.

He gasped as all of the air left his lungs. He stood eye-to-eye with the werewolf, but luckily, it was caught completely by surprise. It's forward momentum brought it directly into the upraised point of the Angel Blade that Castiel held in front of him.

With a whimper of pain from the werewolf and a grunt from the Angel, they both fell in a heap to the stone floor.

Through darkening vision, Castiel saw Terry rushing over to help him.

“Your were sayin', lass!?”, he admonished Deidre, who was staring open-mouthed at the fallen creatures.

Then everything went black.

 


	9. Scavenger Hunt

# Scavenger Hunt

Trevor's ghostly form passed from the wall into the office. He sighed and sat down, looking at his cluttered desk. The young man and woman in the room, dressed as hotel staffers, watched him patiently. Finally, the man let out a breath he had been holding.

“Well?”

Trevor looked up and nodded. “Yeah, it's happening. Just not fast enough.”

“What's that supposed to mean? This was supposed to just _work_ , Trevor!”

Trevor let his arm drop to the desk and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, looking at the ceiling.

“I just told you that it is working, you lunkhead. It just is taking a longer time than we thought!”

The man looked at the floor. The woman just nodded.

“Soooo, that means that all we have to do is turn up the volume, right?” she asked.

Trevor looked at her like she had two heads. “Yeah. We talked about this, remember? If those two idiots let loose on us with everything that they have, they'll just die before it's all out of them. It's all right here,” he said, flipping his computer monitor around. There was an open text document on it. “We have to find a way to bleed it out of them. Like a transfusion.”

“But it's too slow.” the man stated.

“But it's too slow,” Trevor repeated, putting his feet up and leaning back. “So, question is, how do we get them to use just a tad more, without passing out that is, until they're fully drained?”

The woman shrugged. “What about the pretty-boys? Any way to use them?”

Trevor grimaced. “Don't you think I've been trying to find a way to do that? They're the ace in the hole, remember? If we let them find them, and they figure a way out and beat this trap, the party's over.” He shook his head. “Too risky. Unless someone has a better idea, we keep the worms on the hook.”

The man rubbed his chin for a moment.

“Something on your mind?” Trevor asked, watching him.

“Did you see the way the Angel rushed over to save Crowley there at the end of the fight?” the man asked carefully.

“Well, yeah,” Trevor answered, looking confused. “So?”

“ _So_ , I'm thinking that just saving the Hardy Boys and our assorted hostages isn't all they're interested in saving here. Maybe we can up the stakes. I mean, think about it. What would Castiel do if Crowley was in trouble? And I mean _serious_ trouble.”

Trevor leaned forward. “OK, I'm listening.”

The man smiled.

 

***

 

“He's coming around,” a voice said, echoing in Castiel's ear, as if coming from a very great distance.

His eyes opened slowly, aching where they had been squeezed shut in pain. He saw a few blurred forms standing over him.

“M'.....k...” he murmured, trying to sit up. He felt a hand on his chest.

“No you don't, mister,” a woman's voice said gently, but firmly. Eileen. “When you fell, you cracked yer noggin pretty hard there.”

Castiel grimaced and nodded. “S'OK....really,” he managed to get out. “I heal pretty quickly.” He frowned, turning his head around. “Where's Crowley?”

Eileen frowned. “Still down, I'm afraid. We did manage to get some water into him.”

Castiel managed to sit up before Eileen or any of the others could stop him. He saw Gregory, Terry, Joseph, Deidre and little Terrance. They were still in the dining room, and there were pillows on the floor where his head had been.

“Is everyone here?” he asked. “Where's the other maid, Kylie?”

Terry frowned. “Well, Kylie was the one that fetched these here pillows fer ya. She went back up to get some blankets as well.” He scratched his head. “Been at it for awhile though.”

Castiel shook his head slowly, regretting it the second that he did it. The room swam and shadows gathered at the corners of his vision.

“We...we should all stay together,” he mumbled. “No one should be wandering off by themselves.”

“Here, here”, came a gravelly voice from the side. Castiel glanced over and saw that haggard and red-faced Crowley had managed to open his eyes. He had also managed to roll over and prop himself up on an elbow.

“Not only for safety's sake, mind you,” Crowley continued. “But also because we really need to keep an eye on everyone here.”

Terry cocked his head. “What're ye sayin'? That some of us are in on this?”

Crowley nodded slowly. “Exactly that.” His eyes moved to behind Terry. “Well, hello there, Kylie. Thanks for the blankets, but I don't think we'll be needing them after all.”

The other's turned and saw that Kylie had come back downstairs, her arms full of blankets. She let them fall to the floor and shrugged. “Suit yourself, “ she said. “What was all that now? You think I'm in on this crap?” She crossed her arms and watched Crowley carefully.

Crowley smiled amiably. “Not at all,” he answered. “Just being cautious.” With a groan of effort, he managed to get to his feet, brushing off his suit. He eyed Castiel. “Not looking too good there, sport. You going to be OK?”

Castiel managed a wan smile. “I'll be fine as soon as we find Dean and Sam and everyone is out of here.” He stood up on shaky legs. “Speaking of which....”

Crowley cocked his head. “Still want to check out the basement?”

Castiel nodded. “I was right about the Shelleycoats. There were more of them down there. They're guarding something, I'm sure of it.”

Crowley smiled. “Well then, what are we waiting for? Wagons ho.” He frowned and looked at all the others. “Unfortunately, I can't guarantee everyone's safety, whether they decide to stay up here or come with us. I will say that by coming with us, there will at least be a buffer between you and whatever is attempting to turn you into a snack.”

A few of them blanched at that.

“And you say that I don't have people skills,” Castiel grumbled. “Look, everyone that wants to come, stay behind us, and we'll keep whatever is down there off of you. Or at least die trying. That much I can promise you. If you stay up here....”

Terry shook his head vigorously, looking around at the group. “Look, I don't mean to presume to speak for everyone here, but....if it's all the same to you, we'll stay with you folks. You're the only ones that seemed capable of putting a whippin' on those things.”

“Besides, you need us anyway,” the kid Terrance spoke up.

Crowley smiled. “We do?”

“Well, duh. If you pass out again, who's gonna save ya?”

Crowley smiled tightly back and straightened up. “Right. Then. Off to the cellar we go, Mystery Inc.”

 

***

 

They splashed loudly through another branching tunnel, Castiel and Crowley scouting ahead. The rest of them were bunched up behind them. The men, Gregory, Joseph, Terry and Simon surrounded Eileen, Terrance, Deidre and Kylie. They were all armed with various knives, cricket bats and a few of them carried flashlights.

Castiel reached a door secured behind a metal grate and frowned.

“I don't like this,” he whispered at Crowley.

“What's the matter?” Crowley answered in query, looking back at the group and then back at the door. “It seems we've found something down here, right?”

Castiel frowned, nodding. “Yes, I agree. But where are the guards? It's like we're being led down here.”

Crowley smiled. “That occur to you just now?” He shook his head.

“I think it's a trap.”

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I _know_ that it's a trap. The question is, what kind is it? The sneak-up-behind-you and go 'boo!' kind, or the boom-boom-you're-all-dead kind?”

Castiel looked back at the group and shook his head. “We can't open this door and spring it, Crowley. There are too many people here. We'll be putting them in danger as well.”

Crowley grimaced, looking down. “Oh, I don't think so.”

Castiel's frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

“Because they'd be placing themselves in the blast radius if something were to blow up.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You think one of them is working with Trevor?”

Crowley nodded. “Actually, I  _know_ that at  _least_ one of them is working with Trevor. And if this door goes boom, they go with it.” He eyed the door again. “Go ahead, I've got your back if you black out again. Open it.”

Castiel grimaced and braced himself. Blue light filled his eyes, and he gasped in pain. Crowley put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “You OK?”

Castiel nodded in response. “Stand back.”

He gripped the iron gate and pulled. The mortar chipped and groaned in protest, then with a echoing crack, the gate fell away. Castiel stumbled back and fell against the wall. Eileen rushed forward and held him up.

“Easy. Easy there big fella...:” she comforted him.

“Right. So what can we expect when we open this door?” Crowley addressed the group in an exaggeratedly loud voice. “Go on. Anyone can chime in.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned them again. “Simon. How about you?”

Simon's head snapped back a bit in surprise. “Um....me....why are you asking me?”

Crowley's eyes narrowed further and he shoved his hands in his pockets, walking slowly towards him.

“Because, sweetheart, you were the only one among us now that wasn't in the room when we decided to come down here. In fact, you just slipped on in when we started down the stairs.” The others began to move away from the waiter, eyeing him with alarm. “Or did you think I didn't notice that?” Crowley finished, standing face to face with Simon.

Simon smiled back.

He suddenly bolted away past the others down the basement corridor in the direction they had come from. Crowley immediately rushed after him. Castiel managed to steady himself and was fast on their heels.

Simon was, unfortunately, faster than them both, and managed to put a little distance between them. He suddenly spun, still smiling widely, then slammed his hand down into the knee-deep water in the passage. He also slapped his other hand against the stone wall.

The water immediately began to froth and boil. Crowley and Castiel came to a stop. Shapes started to move in the water. The wall shifted, pebbles falling away from the moss covered stone. A clawed hand burst forth from the rock itself. Kelp covered, sharp toothed creatures rose slowly from the boiling water.

In seconds the passageway in front of Simon was choked with at least twenty different monsters, staring hungrily at Castiel and Crowley.

“Run!” Castiel shouted, pushing Crowley ahead of him back in the other direction. There was a howl from the creatures behind them and an explosion of noise as they came scrambling after them.

They reached the group, who were staring in wide-eyed horror behind them. Castiel slammed shoulder first into the wooden door that was behind the iron grate that he had pulled down with all of his weight. The door groaned and bent inward.

Crowley pushed the people behind him, his eyes glowing red. “Stay back!” he shouted, holding up his hand.

The water in front of him exploded in a wall of flame. Steam exploded from it, hot enough to burn. The group gasped and pushed closer to the door that Castiel was pushing against.

“Get that bloody thing open!” Crowley croaked out, his forehead coated in sweat. “I don't know how long I can keep this....”

Castiel flared his Grace and shoved hard. With a final protesting groan, the door splintered and fell in. Castiel stumbled through, landing on his knees. The group piled in behind him, the water from the hallways pouring in around their feet.

Laughter filled the room.

Castiel lifted his head slowly.

Trevor stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back. He cocked his head.

“Well, I would say 'nice job'....” he said.

Castiel looked behind Trevor. Sam and Dean were chained to the wall behind him. Sam lifted his head slowly.

“Castiel...” he croaked out. At Sam's words, Dean opened his eyes.

“ Cas.....Cas.... _no_ ....”, he mumbled.

There were screams behind him. Castiel turned his head to see the creatures rushing in, grabbing the hotel staff and holding them against the walls, snarling and spitting in fury. One of the stone creatures strode past him, dragging something. It flung him at Trevor's feet like a sack of flour.

_Crowley._

Castiel screamed in defiance and sprang at Trevor. He flew right through him and landed in a heap on the wet floor, skidding to a stop.

Trevor laughed again.

He leaned down to Castiel and smiled in his face.

“So, decision time, Angel,” he snarled. “Your little demon buddy here is banged up pretty bad, looks like....” He ran a finger along the back of Crowley's neck. It came out deep red. “Oh,” he continued, tsk-tsk-ing with his tongue. “That's arterial. And nowhere for him to smoke out.”

Trevor stood up and strode over to Dean and Sam. “Then there's these two. Breaking these chains is gonna take up some of that Grace of yours, Angel, but then you won't be able to Heal your partner there.” He put his hands behind his back and walked around Castiel to the hotel staff, still pinned to the wall by the monsters. “Or, do we save the poor, helpless innocent hostages?” He looked at the door. Simon had entered, and was watching as well, grinning.

“Not enough power to save 'em all, Angel. So what's it gonna be?”

Simon and Trevor walked out of the room into the water-logged corridor. Trevor turned back and looked at one of the stone-creatures.

“Give him two minutes. Then start killing them. _All_ of them.”

He turned and walked away, Simon with him. His laughter echoing behind him.

Castiel looked around in utter desperation.

And closed his eyes.

 


	10. Behind the Masks

# Behind the Masks

Crowley's eyes opened slowly. An ice-cold feeling washed through his veins. There was an ache in the back of his head. He struggled to figure out where he was, disorientation crowding into every corner of his thoughts....he had....he was....

….fighting. There was fighting. Monsters coming out of the walls towards him. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. The icy feeling pulsed over him, soothing him. His aches seemed to be flowing away....

He opened his eyes again with alarm. He saw Castiel kneeling over him, hand over his chest. His eyes were shut and he swayed back and forth. The Angel's arm was braced against the floor, holding him upright.

“Castiel....Castiel....what are you doing....don't....” he croaked, his voice a dry whisper.

Castiel shook his head defiantly, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Be quiet....almost...done....healing...you....” Castiel said, blue light pulsing along his arm.

Crowley looked around the room. Several of the creatures that 'Simon the waiter' had summoned were crowded into the room. Some of them held the hotel staff up against the wall. Sam and Dean were chained to a far wall, straining against their bonds.

One of the creatures was holding back a few others, they were watching Castiel and Crowley with interest.

“Why....why are you healing me?” Crowley asked,

Castiel hesitated, the let out a sigh.

“Because, I don't have have enough power to stop them.”

Crowley frowned. “And you think that I do?”

Castiel shook his head slightly, opening his eyes slightly to look at the monsters. “Not much time. We were only given a couple of minutes. You were dying. If I healed you, I'd just be incapacitated, not dead.”

“Right up until the point where they rip us apart that is,” Crowley grumbled.

Castiel slumped towards the floor, the healing Grace sputtering. “Free....Dean and Sam...they can help you....fight those things....”

Crowley nodded. “OK, I'll try....all I can promise you.....” He grimaced. “There are an awful lot of them, though.”

Castiel smiled as he slumped the rest of the way to the floor. “They've....been...fighting things like this their entire lives....and you....” His eyes slid shut. “....you've always got a back-up plan.....right?”

His head thumped to the floor.

Crowley groaned and stood up, his head aching. He raised a hand to his throbbing temple and grimaced.

“Rough night....” he mumbled, staggering over to Sam and Dean, looking back warily over his shoulder at the creatures in the room. He grabbed a fistful of chains in his hand and took a deep breath.

He summoned the smallest amount of demonic energy he could manage and pulled at the bolts in the wall. With a cracking sound, the chain came free. There was a howl of rage from the creatures.

Crowley turned to see that they were no longer waiting. A few of them were barreling down on them, claws extended.

“Crowley, duck!” Sam bellowed. Crowley managed to squat down, still fighting a wave of dizziness, made worse by expending his power. He felt a rush of air and saw that the chain that had been attached to Sam's arm was whistling through the air, and wrapping itself around the neck of the closest of the stone-like monsters. With a grunt, Sam yanked and the creature fell awkwardly, tripping up the ones behind it, the group of them falling in a heap of claws and limbs.

“We can't fight them all!”, Dean shouted, whipping his own chain around at a group of water creatures that were also scrambling for them. “We need to get Cas and these people out of here now!”

“All for it,” Crowley murmured. “Any idea as to how?”

Dean spared a glance at him, puzzled. “Aren't you the frikkin' King of Hell? Since when did a bunch of monster-flunkies stop you?” He grunted in pain as a water-monster clipped him with a claw, hissing at him and driving him back towards the wall.

Crowley shook his head. “Current events being what they are, my powers are more than somewhat limited at the time.”

“What? That means that you can't just blast them?”

“Not really, no.”

“Oh. Oh that's just great.” Dean replied, slamming his forearm up into a water monster's chin. The creatures were pressing in all around them. The monster fell, but two more rushed in to take it's place. They were rapidly being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

“Well, if you've got another idea, I'd love to hear it!” Sam growled, holding back the arm of one of the stone creatures from his throat. It was overpowering him, forcing his back to the wall.

“Actually,” Crowley grunted, getting up from where he was kneeling. “Castiel was right about one other thing.”

“What's that?”, Sam grunted, then gasped as the creature reached his neck.

“I always have a back-up plan,” Crowley answered, reaching a hand to his mouth....

 

***

 

Trevor paused on the steps, frowning and looking back down at the landing from where they had come.

“Did you hear that?”, he asked 'Simon'.

“Huh?”

“I heard....” Trevor said, taking a step back down in the other direction. “It sounded like a loud....”

'Simon' sighed in exasperation. “Man, I didn't hear jack. You're hearing shit.”

Trevor looked back at him, annoyed. “Shut up, jackass, I heard something.”

'Simon' rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You want to go back and check?”

Trevor eyed him. “That depends. How much control you got over those things anyway once they're summoned, Jones?”

The other man shrugged. “Depends. The things I summoned here aren't undead. I have total control over vamps and ghouls and crap, but these Scottish things....” he shook his head. “Yeah. Could be kinda dangerous.”

Trevor grinned. “For you, yeah.” He frowned back down the passageway. “It's quiet down there. There should be screaming by now. Maybe we should.....”

He froze as the sound of footsteps in the water started echoing up the passageway. He moved back up the stairs near Jones. His eyes began to widen as he saw shadows on the walls walking out of the water-logged passage towards the stairs.  _Human_ shadows.....

Crowley came into view around the corner, hands in his pockets, smiling up at Trevor. The Winchesters were behind him, looking none the worse for wear.

Trevor's jaw dropped open..... _how_ ....?

“Hello there, sunshine,” Crowley grinned up at him, waggling his fingers. “Did you miss me?”

“H-how....did you get out of there...?” Trevor sputtered in disbelief. “Y-yyou were completely surrounded.....!”

“Nasty things....Fuathan and Rock_Brownies....pretty nasty customers....”

Trevor stared at him dumbfounded.

“What? You didn't even  _know_ what your friend there summoned? See...that's the problem with having power but no wisdom as to how to use it.” He turned back to the Winchesters and shrugged. “Kids these days....”

“That still doesn't explain....” Trevor continued.

“Oh....that....” Crowley smiled. “Come now, Trevor. You didn't really think that that gigantic crate that I brought with me was only holding _chains_ in it, now did you?”

Trevor frowned. “I was there when Joseph opened it, it was empty....”

Crowley lifted his fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle.

The air shimmered behind him and a heavy tread came down in the water, sending water splashing everywhere. Trevor squinted but couldn't see anything. He could hear a deep rumbling sound in the air.

Crowley rested his hand on something to his side, almost up to his shoulder.

“As I was saying. Fuathan and Rock Brownies. Pretty nasty customers. But lucky for me, I know something even nastier.” He smiled and looked up at Trevor. “You know how you thought that us calling ourselves Mystery Inc. was funny? Well, allow me to introduce you to my version of Scooby-Doo.”

The rumbling in the air turned into a howl that almost shook the very stones of the castle. Trevor paled and turned translucent, turning to run. Jones stood there with his mouth hanging open, not moving. Trevor's incorporeal form barreled right through him up the stairs.

“Scooby....fetch,” Crowley whispered.

The water exploded from the ground as the Hell-Hound rushed away from Crowley and up the stairs. It barreled into Jones and knocked him into the wall. His head hit the stone and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. With a growl, the Hound bounded up the stairs after Trevor.

“Tie him up!” Crowley yelled, pointing at Jones and walking up the stairs. Sam sprinted up the stairs and started winding some rope around Jones' wrists.

“Better gag him too, just for good measure,” Crowley grumbled. He looked back down and saw the hotel staff coming towards the stairwell's landing, carrying Castiel between them.

“Who are these guys?” Dean asked, walking up beside Crowley.

“My guess is the remnants of the Demon/Angel posse,” Crowley answered. “There were supposed to be seven of them, but I think there's only three here.”

“Where are the other ones?”

Crowley shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Squirrel. Probably cut tail and ran once the Bosses disappeared.”

Dean's forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Disappeared? What happened to them?”

“Oh, I might have hit them with a cruise missile a little,” Crowley replied, reaching the top of the stairs and heading into the main room.

Dean paused. “Yeah, that'll do it I guess...,” he muttered, following Crowley upstairs. “Question is, why did they bring us here of all.....”

He barely had enough time to duck out of the way as an automobile came flying out of the air at where he was standing. There was a deafening crash as metal and glass flew everywhere, the auto itself letting out a groan and falling onto it's roof.

Dean, stunned, scrambled back, staring. He looked up into the air from where the auto had fallen, and saw a circular opening hanging there, the edge shimmering. He squinted, feeling disoriented as he saw a road on the other side of the circle.

“What the hell....?!” he yelled, scrambling up.

“It's the other one!” Crowley shouted back. “Apparently she can open portals....” He had ducked behind the reception desk as another circle opened in the air near him. The room flashed brilliantly as a lightning bolt flashed through it, immediately scorching the stone counter. Crowley ran from behind the desk towards Dean.

“Where is she?” Dean asked, head scanning the room wildly, trying to find her.

“Not sure, but we better find out soon.....”

There was a glimmer of light behind them and Dean instinctively grabbed Crowley and hauled him towards the dining room. A huge rush of water came in through another circle in the air, an enormous, dark shape writhing in it, snapping all around it. Dean's eyes grew wide in amazement.

“Is that...is that a frikkin'  _shark_ ?” he asked, incredulous.

“Creative, this one...” Crowley grumbled under his breath. He squinted up at a balcony and smiled. “Got her. She's on the third floor.”

“Well, fat load of good that does us,” Dean answered. “The second we start heading for her, she'll zap us into outer space or something.”

“Not so _loud_ ,” Crowley hissed at him. “You'll give her ideas. In the meantime, one of us needs to get up there. She doesn't have any other powers that I'm aware of.”

“Yeah, well, she's doing pretty good with the one she's got,” Dean said, ducking his head as a bowling ball suddenly came spinning out of the air towards them. It crashed into a dining table, shattering the wooden legs.

“Where's Moose?” Crowley grunted, watching as another disk opened up and a swarm of angry hornets filled the air. They got up and ran.

“Pretty good idea we'll know here in a minute,” Dean grunted as they flung themselves through the kitchen door. Crowley gasped as Dean grabbed his collar at the last second. A portal was open in front of them, leading down into a canyon at least thirty stories high. “Whoah there, Crowley, no Coyote impressions.” They spun to run in the other direction only to see a portal open directly in front of them.

They froze in horror as they saw a stampede of Wilde-beasts bearing down right on top of them.

Crowley winced and turned to the side, but the deafening sound of the stampede suddenly cut off. He opened one eye and looked around.

The circle was gone. All around the room, the remnants of shimmering circles began to snap shut. Crowley looked up at the balcony to see Sam standing there, the unconscious form of the maid at his feet.

“Cuttin' it a little close there, aren't you, Sammy?” Dean called up.

“Yeah, well, there are a lot of stairs here,” Sam shot back, bending down to tie up the girl.

“Hey, what the hell is this?” he called down.

“What?”

“Guys, you better come take a look at this,” Sam said, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.

Dean and Crowley rushed up the stairs. Sam had rolled the girl onto her back. Her shirt sleeve had been ripped, exposing her shoulder.

“I do believe we've seen this before,” Sam said dryly, nodding towards the girl's shoulder.

Tattooed on the girl's arm was a fiery cross with a serpent entwined around it, the jets of flame facing each other at the top.

“The Heralds,” Dean said slowly. He looked at Crowley. “You were right.”

Crowley looked up at Dean. “Not surprised. I figured that once we spotted Trevor. That little prat was working with Vandecourte as well as with the Angel and the Demon.” He rubbed his chin and looked all around him. “What  _is_ this place?”

 

***  
  


Trevor ran as hard as he could through the upper halls of the castle. He could hear the commotion that 'Florence', or Sarah, was causing down in the main hall. He hoped that she didn't accidentally kill Crowley before he could be drained. She was a bit of a loose cannon.

He pushed the thought out of his head, concentrating on going through another wall into his office. The Hell-Hound was having difficulty keeping up when he passed through walls like that. Maybe he could get to them before....

The hackles on his skin raised as he heard the deep growl from directly behind him. He let out a shriek and passed through the locked door into the chamber beyond.

There was a thud at the door as the Hound slammed into it, the heavy iron itself shaking as it was slammed into repeatedly. It's claws screeched across the metal and it barked and howled in fury as it burrowed it's way in.

Trevor held out a shaky hand and flicked on a light switch. The florescents popped into life and slowly illuminated the room.

There were two sarcophagi set up in the center of it. They both were human shaped, one painted red, the other gold. Several cables snaked their way into them out from the walls. The golden coffin was glowing softly.

Trevor rushed over to it and worried at several metal clasps along the side. Surely the Angel had expended enough of his Grace....

There was a hiss of air and the lid fell back. Trevor held his breath as the door banged and shook behind him. One of the hinges broke off and fell to the concrete floor with a clatter. Trevor turned back to the coffin in a panic.

“Come on....COME ON!”, he shouted.

There was a burst of brilliant light that made Trevor stagger back into the wall. He held up a hand in front of his eyes and squinted towards the coffin.

He could make out a shape rising up from it.

The door exploded inwards and with a triumphant snarl, the Hell-Hound leapt at Trevor.

Trevor cringed away, but halfway thorough it's leap the figure from the golden coffin held out it's hand.

There was a sharp yelp of pain from the Hound and something heavy hit the wall near Trevor. He could hear it sliding slowly down to the floor.

The figure stepped out, his features and body resolving, the light diminishing. He nodded at Trevor and then looked at the red coffin, frowning.

“What about Crowley?”, the figure asked in an echoing, melodic tone.

“St....still has power, my lord.”

“Well, we'll have to remedy that, won't we?”

 

***

 

The group had gathered together again back in the main hall near the entrance. The two Heralds Jones and Sarah were bound up and gagged. They were both awake and staring daggers into Crowley and the Winchesters.

Crowley ignored them, focusing on Castiel, who had still not woken up.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Dean asked, the concern evident in his voice.

“It's this place,” Crowley answered. “It seems to cut us off from our sources of power. Not only that, every time we use it – even a little bit, we feel weaker, like we're being....” His eyes widened and he stood up from Castiel, looking around him. “Oh....oh that's bloody brilliant.....” he murmured.

“What?” Dean asked, walking up beside him. “Like you're being what?”

“Drained....” Crowley answered, walking over to one of the walls and feeling along it, occasionally rapping his knuckles on the stone. He eventually hit a spot that echoed back at him. He smiled and looked back at them. “Bingo.”

He pulled at the brick and it came out easily, sliding out as if it were oiled. Crowley peered in and pulled at a cable, yanking it free.

“What? A power cable?”, Sam asked.

“Yes. Exactly like that,” Crowley said, walking over to the two Heralds. He leaned down to study them, scanning their eyes.”So, which one is it going to be....?” he whispered.

He reached over to Jones' gag and ripped it off. The teen let out a grunt of pain and worked his jaw.

“So, this was the plan if something happened to your Bosses, wasn't it? Lure us here and drain us?” He straightened up when Jones didn't answer him, looking around. “So, where are they then? Got emergency vessels all stashed away, ready to be filled again?”

“It doesn't matter,” Jones sneered. Sarah gave him a muffled protest and shoved her shoulder into him, but he ignored her. “The Angel's drained anyway, and that means you're about to get some company.”

“Get on your toes, boys,” Crowley grunted. “He's probably right about that.”

“He's my Herald, Demon,” a voice called down from the top landing of the stairs leading down into the hall. They all looked up at a teenage boy dressed in a white robe standing in front of Trevor. “What he says is always just and true.”

The boy leaped smoothly over the rail, jumping over a hundred feet before landing with a feather's grace on the stone floor. He raised his glowing golden eyes towards them with a sneer.

“And now you will all pay for laying your hands on them,” he said, stepping forward.

“Uh guys...guys?” Dean said back-pedalling and picking up a silver knife. “Arch-Angel coming at us....needing a plan here....” Sam mirrored him, putting a table between himself and the approaching Angel.

“Sorry Dean, all out of divine intervention,” Crowley said, backing away himself.

With a roar, the Angel sprung, tables flying out of his way as if they were leaves in the wind. He slammed Dean and Sam aside and grabbed Crowley by the throat.

“Say goodnight, filth,” The Angel snarled. “I warned you that I would flay the flesh from your bones!”  
Crowley began to black out. He instinctively drew on his Demon power, trying to draw breath. He tried in vain to break the iron-like grip, but could not move the Angel's fingers an inch. He stared at the Angel's face..... _why wasn't he just ending it_ ? He saw the Angel smiling....just  _smiling_ as Crowley drew more and more power to stay alive.

_Of course_ ....

With a force of will, Crowley stopped using his power. The pain hit him like an anvil, slamming into every muscle in his body. He tried to scream, but his throat was too constricted.

The Angel frowned.

“Use your power, Demon....” he rasped. “Save yourself or perish,” he said, drawing his face closer to Crowley's.

“Thanks...I'm fine...”Crowley croaked out, his vision dimming.

“Damn you, Demon! Use your power!” the Angel screamed, his grip tightening. Crowley heard the bones in his neck creaking.

“Let. Him. GO!” a voice cried from behind them.

The Angel spun and suddenly released Crowley. He fell to the floor, gasping for air.

Standing in the entrance were Chuck Shurley and Jesse Turner. Jesse had stepped forward menacingly towards the Angel.

“Jesse?” Crowley asked. “What are you doing here.”

Jesse's eyes were locked with the Angel's as he answered.

“It was Sarah. She locked us away in another dimension somewhere. Some kind of limbo. Something must have happened to her because all of a sudden, that place disappeared and we found ourselves here.”

“What do you intend to do, Jesse Turner?” the Angel asked, starting to circle him. “Do you think you can fight me?”

“I can give it a try,” Jesse answered, his eyes glowing red.

“Jesse, NO!!!!” Crowley screamed, his injured throat flaring in protest.

But it was too late. Red Hellfire sprang out of Jesse's hands and headed straight for the Angel. In the middle of it's flight, however, it bent and streamed straight into the wall. The wall glowed, and the enormous burst of energy traveled up an unseen path into the ceiling. Jesse fell immediately to the floor.

The Angel threw back his head and laughed.

“One Demon or another, it doesn't matter to me!” he yelled in triumph. He turned back to Crowley, his lips curled in a sneer. “We have returned, false King. Soon my Brother and I will tear

you apart....”

“What are you?” Chuck's voice asked from the entrance.

The Angel spun, his lip quivering. He took a step towards Chuck, his eyes widening. His jaw began to fall open.

“What have you  _done_ to yourself?” Chuck asked in a whisper. Tears were forming in his eyes.

The Angel was now standing directly in front of Chuck.

“Fa.....Father....?” he asked, his voice tiny.

“Oh,  _no_ ....my poor son.....” Chuck said, raising up a hand towards the Angel. A tear streaked down his cheek.

The Angel watched the hand, then, suddenly, a flicker of pure madness rushed through his eyes. With a cry of despair and pure, unadulterated shame, he flew up into the upper chambers of the castle, disappearing into the halls.

Chuck sunk to the floor, stunned, staring up at where the Angel had flown away.

 

***

 

The Angel entered the chamber to find his Brother's coffin already open, his sibling already standing on the floor.

“We're leaving,” the Angel said, wiping at his eyes.

The Demon looked back at him, frowning.

“What? Now? Did something happen with the plan? Aren't there a Castiel and Crowley lying around somewhere for us to play with?”

The Angel fixed him with a long stare. He glanced over at Trevor, who was hugging himself against the wall.

“Father is here.” said the Angel, looking back at his Brother

The Demon's eyes widened. Then he nodded slowly.

“Yeah. OK. We're leaving.”

The air shimmered and they were gone.

 

***

 

A few hours later, Castiel woke up. Despite being severely shaken, he seemed to be recovering. They found the chamber where the Angel and the Demon had been recharged, and scratched out the holding runes maintaining the shield around the castle. They drove everyone in the hotel van back to the airport, Crowley paying for the tickets for everyone to get home. Castiel, Crowley, Dean, Sam, Jesse and Chuck flew back to Atlanta in a private jet, Sarah and Jones still their prisoners.

They met Charlie back at the office, who had been worried sick for the last few days without being able to get a hold of any of them. She listened to the story, looked a little sick when she heard about Trevor, and then said her goodbyes, giving Chuck a rather long and unusual nod, which he returned in kind.

They met in the main office a few hours later, the mood somber.

“Well, now what?” Dean asked finally, breaking a heavy silence.

Crowley sighed heavily. “Well, now it appears our brief respite is coming to an end.”

“Great,” Sam replied. “Any idea what their end game is?”

“They tried to wreck Heaven and release the Old Ones,” Castiel answered. “They failed. Joshua is dead, and the Heralds are broken.”

“They still have Suriel,” Chuck said from the corner of the office. “They kill her, and they can still open that Gate on their own.”

Crowley grunted. “Won't happen,” he said.

“What?” Castiel asked, puzzled.

“That's not their End Game,” Crowley replied easily. “They were using Joshua.”

“So, what are they really after?” Sam asked.

Crowley sighed, dropping his head and placing both of his palms on the table.

“You know something Moose? I have no idea. But I am afraid that we're about to find that out.”

 


End file.
